FAMOUS  SCOUTS 

INCLUDING  TRAPPERS,    PIONEERS,  AND  SOLDIERS 
OF  THE  FRONTIER 


SHOUTS   AND   FIERCE    CRIES    WENT    UP   ON    ALL    SIDES." 
(See  page  176.) 


FAMOUS    SCOUTS 

Including  Trappers,  Pioneers,  and 
Soldiers  of  the  Frontier 

Their  hazardous  and  exciting  adventures 

In  the  mighty  drama  of  the  White 

conquest  of  the  American 

continent 


By 
CHARLES  H.  L.  JOHNSTON 

Author  of  "  Famous  Cavalry  Leaders," 
"Famous  Indian  Chiefs,"  etc. 


Illustrated 


BOSTON.      L.      C.    PAGE     & 
COMPANY.      &      MDCCCCX 


Copyright, 
BY  L.  C.  PAGE  &  COMPANY. 

(INCORPORATED) 


Entered  at  Stationers'  Hall,  London 


All  rights  reserved 


First  Impression,  November,  1910 


Printed  by 

THE     COLONIAL      PRESS 
C.  H.  Simonds  <5r«  Co.,  Boston,  U.S. A . 


L1KHAHY 

Oi   CAMFOKMA 
SANTA  BARBARA 


Dedicated 


tfje  ^>cijoolt3opg  anb  |?otmg 
of  tfje  3imteb  States;,  Cnglanb 
anb  Canaba 

whose  many  tokens  of  appreciation  of  my  work 

have  made  it  a  labor  of  love 
to  write  these  tales  of  the  famous  pioneers 

and  men  of  mettle, 

who  lived  adventurous  lives, 

and  left  full  records  of  their  gallant  deeds, 

which  should  live  for  all  time. 


INTRODUCTION 

THESE  are  the  stories  of  men  who,  impelled  by 
love  of  adventure  and  fascinated  by  wild  nature,  de- 
serted the  places  where  those  of  their  kind  clustered 
together  in  towns,  cities,  and  small  settlements,  to 
plunge  into  a  country  peopled  by  men  of  a  hostile  race. 
These  adventurers  had  music  in  their  souls.  They 
possessed  temperaments  of  a  poetic  nature,  and  loved 
the  great,  wide  vistas  of  the  plains;  the  scream  of  the 
eagle;  the  bark  of  the  coyote;  the  splash  and  gurgle 
of  crystal  rivers  which  plunged  in  a  reckless  course 
between  the  shelving  sides  of  narrow  canons.  Their 
eyes  reveled  in  the  skies  of  the  golden  West,  and  in 
the  sight  of  plateaus  decked  with  those  flowers  of  a 
million  colors  which  clothe  the  mountain  valleys  in 
the  hot  months  of  summer.  Their  senses  were  keen; 
their  love  of  the  unrestrained  life  in  camp  and  log 
cabin  was  resistless;  their  ready  rifles  supplied  them 
with  the  wherewithal  to  sustain  their  strength  and 
spirits;  and  in  their  veins  ran  warm,  red  blood. 

Urged  onward  by  the  romantic,  these  hardy  in- 
dividuals made  history.  Emerson  speaks  with  truth 
when  he  says,  "Romance  is  never  present,  but  always 
remote.  Things  which  are  cruel  and  abominable 
when  they  occur,  become  romantic  in  memory.  Un- 
principled bandits  are  Red  Cross  Knights,  and  Tem- 
plars and  Martyrs  even,  in  the  thoughts  of  those  of 

vii 


viii  INTRODUCTION 

this  century.  In  individual  history,  disagreeable  oc- 
currences are  remembered  long  after  with  complacency. 
A  romantic  age,  properly  speaking,  cannot  exist.  Never- 
theless, romance  is  the  mother  of  knowledge;  and  it 
is  in  searching  for  wonders  that  the  truth  is  discovered. 
If  the  unknown  were  not  magnified,  no  one  would  ex- 
plore. Had  it  not  been  for  the  belief  that  an  El  Dorado 
lay  in  America,  European  navigators  would  have 
lacked  the  stimulus  for  adventurous  voyages.  The 
history  of  all  sciences  is  alike:  men  guess,  and,  to  verify 
their  guesses,  they  go  and  see, —  and  are  disappointed; 
but  bring  back  truth." 

So  with  these  heroes  of  the  plains.  Irresistibly 
drawn  on  by  that  strange,  magnetic  call  of  the  wild, 
they  searched  for  their  El  Dorados,  and  brought  back 
truth.  They  returned  with  tales  of  a  glorious,  un- 
peopled country;  of  herds  of  game;  strange  tribes  of 
red-skinned  people;  of  clear  rivers,  and  sage-covered 
wastes  of  alkali.  And  these  tales  —  stirring  the  im- 
aginations of  their  fellows  —  led  to  that  great,  sweeping 
emigration  of  the  white  pioneers  to  the  land  of  the 
setting  sun.  These  men  were,  perhaps,  of  uncouth 
manners  and  untutored  brains;  but  they  made  history. 

In  the  far  West  it  is  no  uncommon  sight  to  meet 
the  pioneer  with  his  wife,  his  herds  and  his  family, 
as  they  push  into  the  unsettled  wastes,  always  in  search 
of  "something  better  than  they  left  behind."  This  vision- 
ary reaching  for  what  always  lies  beyond  is  what  has 
appealed  to  men  of  a  certain  temperament.  Some 
wander  —  always  wander  —  discontented  with  what 
they  find;  searching  with  uncertain  longings  for  their 


INTRODUCTION  ix 

Utopia.  Others,  satisfied  with  that  which  has  come 
to  them,  have  remained  in  one  place,  to  build  a  factory; 
till  a  farm,  raise  a  family,  and  be  a  stationary  unit 
in  world  progression.  These  men  of  whom  I  write 
were  often  restless,  roving  blades.  They  continually 
looked  into  the  beyond;  if  they  did  not  do  so,  they 
were  not  satisfied  with  the  quiet  life,  but  had  to  be  in 
the  maelstrom  of  action.  The  perpetual  boy  was  in 
them. 

For  this  reason  I  write  of  their  active  lives  for 
young  men,  for  is  it  not  young  men  for  action,  old  men 
for  counsel?  To  the  young  man  the  philosopher  does 
not  appeal:  Franklin  is  superseded  by  Light  Horse 
Harry  Lee.  The  red  blood  of  youth  sees  heroes  in  the 
individuals  of  dash  and  courage;  while,  to  him,  the 
man  of  the  diplomatic  circle,  the  scientific  dreamer, 
the  scholar  and  poet,  have  little  place  in  the  affections 
of  one  in  whose  veins  is  the  hot  impulse  to  do,  and  not 
to  meditate. 

Hark,  then,  to  the  stories  of  the  men  who  were  of 
the  forest,  the  mountain,  the  plain  and  the  camp; 
men  who,  in  living  their  wild  lives,  made  records  upon 
the  pages  of  history,  and  were  the  scouts  of  that  surging 
mass  of  white  adventurers  which  has  taken  possession 
of  a  great  and  fruitful  continent.  Under  the  sledge- 
hammer blows  of  the  toilers  of  the  white  race,  this 
silent  land  has  produced  a  wealth  which  is  unsurpassed, 
and  which  has  meant  little  to  the  men  of  the  pack,  the 
saddle  and  the  rifle;  who  lived,  scouted  and  toiled, 
in  the  enjoyment  of  a  full-blooded  existence. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

INTRODUCTION     .......       vii 

I.   GENERAL  ISRAEL   PUTNAM:   PIONEER,  SOL- 
DIER, AND  HEROIC  ADVENTURER    .          .         1 
II.    DANIEL    BOONE,    THE    FIRST    PIONEER    OF 

KENTUCKY  AND  COURAGEOUS  EXPLORER      38 

III.  SIMON  KENTON:  THE  PLUCKIEST  WOODSMAN 

UPON  THE  OHIO  FRONTIER    ...       75 

IV.  CAPTAIN    SAMUEL    BRADY:    THE    GREATEST 

LONG  DISTANCE  JUMPER  OF  AMERICAN 
HISTORY     ......       97 

V.     THE  Two  ATHLETIC  POES,  AND  MAJOR  SAM 
McCULLOCH,  THE  DESPERATE  RlDER  OF 
WEST  VIRGINIA  .         .         .         .113 

VI.   LEWIS  AND  CLARKE:  THE  FIRST  BOLD  EX- 
PLORERS TO  REACH  THE  PACIFIC  BY  THE 
NORTHERN  ROUTE       ....     123 

VII.   COLONEL  DAVY  CROCKETT:  BEAR   HUNTER, 
CONGRESSMAN,  AND  DEFENDER  OF  TEXAN 
LIBERTY     ......     140 

VIII.   GENERAL   SAM    HOUSTON,    THE    SAVIOR    OF 

TEXAS        ., 163 

IX.    KIT  CARSON,  THE  NESTOR  OF  THE  ROCKY 

MOUNTAINS         .....     181 
X.    GENERAL  WILLIAM  S.  HARNEY,  THE  EVER- 
GLADE FIGHTER  AND  MARVELLOUS  RUN- 
NER  .211 

XI.    WILD  BILL  HICKOK:  TRAPPER,  SCOUT  AND 

FEARLESS  GUN  FIGHTER       .         .          .     232 
XII.    CAPTAIN  D.  L.  PAYNE,  THE  CIMARRON  SCOUT.     264 

XIII.  WHITE  BEAVER  —  DR.    D.    F.    POWELL  — 

CHIEF  MEDICINE  MAN  OF  THE  WINNE- 
BAGO  Sioux        .....     279 

XIV.  THE    HON.    WILLIAM    F.    CODY  —  BUFFALO 

BILL  —  LAST  AND  MOST  NOTED  OF  THE 
GREAT  SCOUTS  OF  THE  FRONTIER  .         .     296 
CONCLUSION  ....  337 


LIST  OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGB 

"  Shouts  and  fierce  cries  went  up  on  all  sides  "  (See  page 

176) •;        •       .       Frontispiece 

General  Israel  Putnam 2 

Daniel  Boone 38 

"  Kenton  rode  well  and  hard  " 8l 

Captain     Meriwether    Lewis.  —  Captain    William    Clarke  123 

Colonel  David  Crockett 140 

Kit  Carson    .        .        .       .       . 181 

"  The  crash  of  rifles  waked  the  echoes  of  the  sombre  forest  "  195 

General  William  A.  Harney 21 1 

Wild  Bill  Hickok 232 

Captain  D.  L.  Payne 264 

White  Beaver  (Dr.  D.  F.  Powell) 279 

Buffalo  Bill  (William  F.  Cody) 296 

"  When   the    Sioux   saw  the   charging   soldiers,   pandemo- 
nium broke  loose  among  them" 328 


FAMOUS  SCOUTS 


GENERAL    ISRAEL  PUTNAM:  PIONEER, 

SOLDIER  AND  HEROIC 

ADVENTURER 

WHEN  the  American  troops  were  throwing  up 
intrenchments  on  Ploughed  Hill  —  half  a  mile 
from  the  breastworks  of  the  British  regulars  on 
Bunker  Hill  —  during  the  American  War  of  Independ- 
ence,   a    stout-bodied    major-general    of    the   Colonial 
forces  was  superintending  the  work  with  great  diligence. 
Addressing  a  soldier  who  was  standing  not  far  from 
him,  he  said: 

"Here,  my  man,  we  are  in  need  of  quick  action,  for 
the  enemy  will  soon  open  fire  upon  us.  Place  these 
sods  upon  the  wall,  and  bolster  up  these  weak  defenses." 
But  the  soldier  did  not  proceed  with  any  speed.  He 
hung  back,  and  continued  with  great  slowness  to  execute 
the  order. 

"Oho,"  remarked  he  who  had  given  the  command, 
in  mock  apology,  "  I  see  that  you  are  an  officer,  my  fine 
fellow";  and,  jumping  forward,  he  placed  the  sods  in 
position  himself. 

This  action  was  seen  by  the  rest  of  the  troops  and 
had  tremendous  effect  upon  them;  for  men  are  quick  to 

1 


2  FAMOUS  SCOUTS 

notice  the  democratic  side  of  their  leaders,  and  nothing 
pleases  them  more  than  to  see  an  officer  who  will  share 
their  dangers  and  privations  with  them,  and,  if  necessary, 
do  the  same  work  which  they  must  undertake.  Wash- 
ington, Stonewall  Jackson,  Wellington,  Sir  John  Moore, 
and  Sheridan,  owed  their  popularity  with  their  troops 
to  their  simplicity  of  life  and  whole-souled  democracy 
of  spirit.  Thus  bold,  bluff  and  generous  Israel  Putnam 
—  the  man  who  had  not  been  too  dignified  to  do  the 
labor  of  a  common  soldier  —  was  loved,  respected  and 
revered  by  the  bedraggled  and  unkempt  Continentals 
who  fought  behind  him  during  the  war  of  the  secession 
of  the  American  colonies  from  the  British  yoke. 

Putnam  was  born  in  Massachusetts  when  a  portion 
of  that  state  was  a  wilderness;  when  the  shy  and  un- 
gainly moose  roamed  through  the  unbroken  forest;  when 
the  beaver  bred  in  the  clear  streams;  when  bears  and 
wolves  still  had  their  habitations  in  the  dark  recesses 
of  the  uncut  woodland;  and  when  many  hostile  red  men 
menaced  the  safety  of  the  few  dauntless  pioneers  who 
made  their  homes  in  the  open  clearings. 

An  old  farmhouse  now  stands  upon  the  road  between 
Newburyport  and  Boston  —  just  halfway  between  the 
two  places  —  and  although  part  of  it  is  new,  an  older 
portion  of  rough-hewn  logs  dates  from  1648,  a  time 
when  bitter  warfare  was  waged  between  the  settlers 
and  Indians,  and  when  the  building  of  a  frontier  home 
was  often  interrupted  by  an  unforeseen  attack  from 
the  skulking  red  foeman  in  the  underbrush. 

The  date  of  Putnam's  birth,   1718,  shows  that  his 
youth  was  spent  at  a  time  when  the  roads  were  narrow 


GENERAL    ISRAEL    PUTNAM. 


GENERAL  ISRAEL  PUTNAM          3 

and  dangerous;  the  settled  clearings  were  few  and  far 
apart;  and  it  was  unsafe  for  little  children  to  go  alone 
to  school  because  of  the  unfriendly  redskins. 

Fortunate  is  he  who  is  born  in  the  country,  for  the 
free  existence  and  clear  air  builds  up  a  muscular  body 
that  is  of  tremendous  value  in  after  life;  and  it  was  fort- 
unate for  Putnam,  as  he  had  good  need  of  a  vigorous 
frame  in  the  life  of  action  which  he  was  to  lead.  He 
loved  the  forest.  He  learned  early  how  to  shoot,  trap, 
and  fish;  how  to  find  his  way  —  without  even  a  com- 
pass —  in  the  dark  and  uncut  recesses  of  the  wood;  and 
although  he  went  to  school,  he  left  before  he  had  become 
thorough  master  of  the  art  of  spelling. 

Self-reliance  makes  the  man.  The  pioneer's  son, 
accustomed  from  early  youth  to  battling  with  adversity, 
secures  a  rough  and  hard-grained  philosophy  which 
makes  him  lose  the  supersensitiveness  of  the  scion  of  a 
man  of  wealth.  You  say  to  yourself,  Would  that  I 
had  been  born  rich!  but,  had  you  been  born  to  great 
wealth,  you  would  lack  your  fire,  your  determination, 
and  your  perseverance.  The  city  boy  cannot  be  ex- 
pected to  have  the  virtues  of  the  country  lad.  He  has 
no  quiet  wilderness  for  a  home;  no  early,  healthy  hours; 
no  ice  to  break  in  the  well  of  a  cold,  winter's  morning. 
From  the  very  nature  of  things,  the  son  of  a  pioneer 
must  struggle  with  adversity;  and,  by  conquering  the 
disagreeable,  he  gains  a  certain  rough  virtue  that  is  a 
tremendous  asset  in  life's  hurly-burly. 

So  with  Israel  Putnam.  It  is  said  that  he  could 
scarcely  write  his  own  name,  but  he  did  things. 

He  did  things  at  a  rather  crucial  time  in  the  history  of 


4  FAMOUS  SCOUTS 

the  then  unformed  United  States.  He  did  things  when 
forests  were  deep,  men  were  rough,  passions  were  strong; 
and  to  those  that  were  looking  for  adventure  was  given 
an  ample  opportunity  to  gratify  their  desires.  He  did 
things;  and  he  has  left  a  name  which  will  always  abide 
as  being  synonymous  with  courage,  audacity,  and  sound 
common  sense. 

As  a  small  boy,  the  little  backwoods  man  possessed 
a  coolness  and  daring  which  made  him  a  leader  among 
the  few  companions  whom  he  found  to  play  with  in  the 
sparsely  settled  neighborhood  of  his  home.  One  day, 
with  his  usual  daring,  he  climbed  a  tree  in  order  to 
secure  a  bird's  nest  upon  a  limb  many  feet  from  the 
ground;  but  —  just  as  he  was  about  to  reach  it  —  his 
clothes  caught  on  a  branch,  he  slipped  to  one  side,  and 
would  have  fallen  to  the  ground  had  not  a  curved 
branch  caught  and  held  him.  Fortunately  a  boy 
named  Randall  was  in  the  group,  with  a  rifle  under  his 
arm,  and,  as  he  was  noted  for  being  a  crack  shot,  Put- 
nam called  out, 

"Jim  Randall,  is  there  a  ball  hi  your  rifle?" 

"Yes/'  replied  the  smiling  marksman,  who  was 
chuckling  at  the  ludicrous  sight  Putnam  presented. 

"  Do  you  see  the  limb  which  holds  me  up  here?" 

"I  do." 

"  Then  fire  at  it,"  continued  the  anxious  youth,  who 
was  swaying  in  the  air  like  a  large,  ripe  apple. 

"  What?    And  cut  you  down?" 

"  Of  course.    For  what  else  could  I  ask  it  of  you?" 

"  But  I  might  strike  your  body  and  hurt  you,"  said 
Randall,  eyeing  the  sight  of  his  rifle  anxiously. 


GENERAL    ISRAEL   PUTNAM          5 

"Shoot,"  answered  the  now  red-faced  Putnam. 
"Better  blow  out  my  brains  at  once  than  allow  me  to 
choke  to  death,  as  I  shall  do  in  fifteen  minutes.  Shoot! 
I  tell  you!  Shoot!" 

"But  you  will  fall  a  great  distance  and  break  your 
leg,"  said  the  anxious  Randall. 

Putnam  was  now  sputtering  with  rage  and  loss  of 
breath. 

"Will  you  fire?"  cried  he. 

As  he  ceased  speaking,  a  sharp  crack  sounded  above 
the  noises  of  the  forest;  the  splinters  flew  from  the  branch 
which  held  the  anxious  captive;  and,  with  a  sudden 
rush,  the  future  general  fell  headlong  to  the  ground. 
Immediately  his  companions  gathered  around  him  and 
asked  if  he  were  hurt.  "Bah!"  answered  the  sturdy 
youth  to  their  questioning,  "I  am  bruised,  as  you  see, 
but  I  can  still  walk.  Furthermore,  I  intend  to  have 
that  bird's  nest."  Two  days  later,  the  undaunted 
climber  returned  and  captured  the  prize. 

In  the  old  New  England  days  when  land  was  cheap 
and  easily  had,  men  married  early  in  life,  and  had  large 
families.  Putnam  took  a  wife  at  the  age  of  twenty,  or 
twenty-one,  and  settled  upon  the  Mohegan  River  at 
Pomfret,  Connecticut,  upon  a  plot  of  cleared  ground 
which  his  father  had  owned  and  had  given  to  him.  Here 
he  lived  peacefully  and  happily  for  a  number  of  years, 
interesting  himself  in  the  cultivation  of  his  farm  and  m 
the  breeding  of  sheep.  His  flocks  waxed  in  size  and 
brought  him  considerable  return  from  the  sale  of  wool; 
but  there  was  a  wolf  in  the  neighborhood  —  a  large  and 
powerful  female  —  who  liked  mutton  as  well  as  did  the 


6  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

stout  yeomen  of  New  England  and  their  families.  By 
the  dusk  she  would  steal  close  to  the  unsuspecting  flocks 
of  the  fanners,  sneak  to  within  easy  distance  of  the 
least  active,  and  then,  with  a  mighty  rush,  would  be 
among  them.  In  a  second,  the  cruel  jaws  would  close 
around  the  throat  of  an  inoffensive  lamb,  and  it  would  be 
dragged  to  the  lair  of  the  ferocious  mother,  —  for  there 
were  numerous  young  which  had  to  be  fed. 

As  young  Putnam  saw  his  flock  gradually  diminish- 
ing under  the  depredations  of  the  hungry  animal,  he 
naturally  grew  extremely  angry.  Traps  were  set  for 
the  woodland  marauder  and  her  cubs,  and  many  of  the 
latter  were  captured.  The  old  wolf  was  herself  half 
trapped,  one  day,  but  she  gnawed  away  her  toes  and 
regained  her  liberty.  Frequently  Putnam  and  his 
neighbors  would  pursue  her  over  hill  and  valley,  but  she 
always  eluded  them  and  their  half-bred  dogs,  to  escape 
in  the  rocky  hills  where  was  her  cave.  The  pioneers 
of  Connecticut  were  determined  to  rid  the  country  of  such 
a  pest.  They  persisted  hi  their  endeavor  to  capture 
the  scourge  of  the  sheepfolds,  and  at  last  were 
successful. 

One  day  the  mixed  hounds  which  composed  the 
pack  of  the  first  hunt  club  hi  America  —  a  hunt  club 
founded  for  self-protection,  not  for  pleasure  —  seemed 
to  be  more  fortunate  in  finding  the  scent  of  the  wolf 
than  usual.  Like  a  fox  she  first  ran  in  a  circle  over  hill 
and  vale,  then  doubled  and  came  back  towards  her 
cave.  All  night  the  sturdy  hounds  drove  the  quarry, 
and  in  the  early  morn  had  tracked  her  to  her  den  at  a 
place  only  seven  miles  from  the  home  of  the  rugged 


GENERAL   ISRAEL   PUTNAM         7 

Putnam,  who  was  burning  with  righteous  anger  to 
avenge  the  loss  of  a  score  or  more  of  his  fattest  sheep. 
A  large  number  of  men  and  boys  assembled  around  the 
mouth  of  the  cave,  with  dogs,  guns,  straw  and  sulphur, 
prepared  to  smoke  out  the  enemy  of  the  countryside. 
Sneaking  to  the  very  back  of  the  cavern,  the  infuriated 
animal,  with  flaming  eyes  and  bristling  hair,  growled 
ominously,  and  prepared  to  spring  upon  whomsoever 
should  approach. 

Several  of  the  more  courageous  hounds  entered  the 
cave  and  neared  the  dangerous  animal.  But  she  rushed 
upon  them  with  fury;  bit  and  clawed  savagely  and  drove 
them,  yelping,  to  the  open,  with  their  bodies  bleeding 
from  the  bites  and  scratches  which  she  had  inflicted. 
Smoke  and  the  fumes  of  sulphur  could  not  move  her. 
She  clung  to  her  position  with  all  the  tenacity  of  her 
race,  and,  with  glowing  eyeballs  and  savage  growls,  faced 
the  dim  light  at  the  mouth  of  the  cave,  where  she  could 
see  the  shadows  of  her  pursuers. 

"For  twenty  hours/'  says  an  old  historian,  "the 
savage  varmint  kept  the  dogs  and  huntsmen  at  bay," 
and  when  Israel  Putnam  arrived  upon  the  scene,  a  few 
of  the  pioneers  were  about  to  give  up  in  despair.  One 
of  the  farm-hands  was  standing  near  the  mouth  of  the 
cavern. 

"Take  a  torch  and  gun,  go  into  the  cave,  and  shoot 
the  old  she-devil,"  said  Putnam  to  him. 

The  fellow  peered  curiously  into  the  opening.  A 
savage  snarl  came  from  the  darkness  within,  and  the 
gloomy  depths  did  not  appeal  to  him  as  much  as  stout 
Israel  could  have  wished. 


8  FAMOUS    SCOUTS 

"I  would  rather  not,"  said  he.  "I  don't  think  that 
I  could  handle  myself  to  advantage  in  such  a  small 
space." 

"By  Jove,"  cried  Putnam,  his  eyes  flashing,  "I'm 
ashamed  to  have  such  a  coward  in  my  family.  I,  my- 
self, will  go  in  and  dispatch  this  marauder  of  the  country- 
side." 

"No!  No!"  shouted  several  of  his  friends.  "Don't 
expose  yourself  to  certain  injury.  Stay  outside!" 

But  Putnam  could  not  be  moved  in  his  intention, 
and  seizing  several  pieces  of  birch-bark  he  soon  had 
lighted  one  for  a  torch,  held  it  before  him,  and  penetrated 
the  gloomy  depths  of  the  cavern.  The  way  was  small 
and  narrow, —  so  low,  in  fact,  that  he  had  to  crawl  upon 
his  hands  and  knees.  But  he  pressed  onward  with  a 
rope  tied  to  one  foot  —  like  a  diver  —  and,  by  worming 
his  way,  soon  came  to  the  very  rear  of  the  cave.  The 
wolf  backed  against  the  wall  and  snarled  at  the  bold 
intruder.  She  snapped  vindictively  with  her  jaws,  and 
moved  forward  as  if  she  were  about  to  spring  upon  the 
adventurous  Yankee. 

At  this  moment  the  anxious  partisans  of  the  daring 
Putnam  felt  a  jerk  upon  the  rope,  and,  recognizing  this 
to  be  a  signal  for  quick  action,  they  began  to  pull  lustily 
upon  it.  "Now  give  away,  boys,"  shouted  a  stout 
farmer  who  held  the  end  nearest  the  opening,  and  like 
sailors  upon  the  windlass  of  a  vessel,  hand  over  hand 
they  dragged  the  courageous  Putnam  into  the  open. 
His  clothes  were  much  torn  when  he  was  jerked  into 
view.  He  was  bruised  and  badly  scratched,  but  his 
first  words  were,  "  Boys,  give  me  my  gun,  for  I'm  going 


GENERAL    ISRAEL   PUTNAM          9 

in  again  and  will  finish  the  depredations  of  Mrs.  Wolf 
forever." 

Some  one  had  loaded  his  flintlock  and  placed  it  in 
his  hand  as  he  ceased  speaking;  and,  without  further 
ado,  he  fell  upon  his  hands  and  knees.  In  a  moment 
more  he  had  entered  the  mouth  of  the  cavern,  and  was 
clambering  slowly  towards  the  savage  animal,  who, 
somewhat  terrified  at  the  burning  birch,  slunk  back  into 
the  end  of  the  cave  as  far  as  she  was  able.  Nearer  and 
nearer  came  the  undaunted  Putnam  until  the  flickering 
gleam  of  his  torch  made  it  possible  for  him  to  see  his 
quarry.  Then,  raising  his  musket  to  his  shoulder,  he 
took  deliberate  aim,  and  fired  at  the  head  of  the  wolf. 
A  dull  roar  was  followed  by  a  suffocating  cloud  of  smoke, 
and,  giving  a  kick  to  the  rope  as  a  signal,  the  fearless 
yeoman  was  again  dragged  into  the  open. 

When  Putnam  had  fired,  the  old  wolf  had  given  one 
tremendous  howl,  so  he  was  not  certain  that  his  ball  had 
taken  effect.  But  when  he  again  clambered  into  the 
cave  and  advanced  cautiously  up  the  passage,  he  saw, 
by  the  flickering  flame  of  the  birch,  that  the  animal 
was  lying  dead.  So,  seizing  her  by  the  ears,  he  signalled 
to  his  friends  by  a  kick  upon  the  rope,  and  was  soon 
dragged  into  the  open,  with  the  wolf  held  fast  by  the 
head. 

"Hurrah!"  shouted  his  companions.  "Hurrah  for 
Old  Put!  Hurrah  for  the  wolf-killer!"  and,  surrounded 
by  his  admiring  helpmeets,  the  fearless  huntsman  was 
the  recipient  of  many  a  hearty  hand-shake. 

"Here!  Let  us  carry  the  old  wolf  home!  Come, 
boys,  we'll  make  a  litter  of  trees  for  her,"  said  Putnam, 


10  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

after  the  noise  had  subsided.  "And  I  hope  that  all  of 
you  will  journey  to  my  house  to  dine,  for  we  should 
certainly  have  a  feast  now  that  we  have  rid  the  country 
of  its  greatest  pest." 

"That  we  will  do,"  cried  the  majority,  and  on  a 
quickly  fashioned  litter  of  boughs  the  dead  carcass  of 
the  wolf  was  soon  being  borne  in  triumph  to  the  home 
of  the  courageous  "Old  Put."  His  wife  welcomed 
them  right  royally,  and,  as  they  clustered  about  the 
rough-hewn  table,  all  toasted  the  courage,  nerve,  and 
audacity  of  the  Connecticut  farmer  who  had  at  last 
brought  to  bay  the  scourge  of  their  sheepfolds. 

Who  would  think  it?  Even  the  papers  of  France 
and  England  copied  a  description  of  this  exploit.  It 
was  said  that  there  were  ten  wolves  in  the  cave;  that  a 
bear  and  her  two  cubs  were  also  inside;  that  the  entrance 
was  so  narrow  that  it  had  to  be  blasted;  that  it  was  of 
tremendous  length.  The  feat  was  distorted  and  mag- 
nified in  every  way  until  the  well-meaning  Putnam  had 
a  reputation  far  greater  than  he  was  entitled  to.  Yet 
he  bore  himself  graciously  beneath  the  favorable  com- 
ment which  he  heard  upon  all  sides,  and,  because  of  his 
agreeable  manner,  generous  spirit,  and  uniform  good- 
humor,  was  not  only  popular,  but  also  held  in  great 
affection  by  his  neighbors. 

It  is  no  wonder  that  a  man  of  his  disposition  was 
among  the  first  to  enlist  in  the  French  and  Indian  War 
which  broke  out  in  the  year  1755.  "Old  Put"  was 
then  a  subject  of  the  British  crown.  He  was  commis- 
sioned a  captain  of  volunteers,  although  he  had  never 
served  a  single  day  in  any  military  command;  and  he 


GENERAL   ISRAEL   PUTNAM        11 

marched  to  the  front  with  spirited  enthusiasm.  Many 
of  his  neighbors  joined  him;  young  men  all,  and  men 
who  were  thrifty,  hard-working,  and  intelligent  enough 
to  recognize  in  this  Connecticut  farmer  a  born  fighter 
and  leader  of  troops.  Not  a  single  one  of  them  had  ex- 
perienced any  training  in  military  affairs,  yet  they  were 
rugged  fellows,  with  strong  arms,  stout  bodies,  bold 
hearts,  and  absolute  confidence  in  their  captain. 

In  General  Braddock's  fatal  march  upon  Fort  Du- 
quesne,  Putnam  and  his  rangers  took  no  part;  but  later 
on  he  and  his  men  became  attached  to  the  force  under 
Sir  William  Johnson,  which  moved  against  Crown  Point 
and  other  strongholds  of  the  French  upon  the  shores  of 
Lake  Champlain.  Putnam's  rangers  were  known  as 
scouts.  Their  duties  were  active  and  perilous.  In 
advance  of  the  army,  they  were  expected  to  surprise 
the  enemy's  pickets;  cut  off  or  capture  any  detached 
parties  which  were  small  enough  for  them  to  cope  with; 
waylay  all  convoys  of  provisions  which  they  could 
overpower;  and  obtain  information  in  regard  to  the 
movements  of  the  French  and  their  redskin  allies. 
These  duties  suited  "Old  Put"  to  perfection,  for  he 
knew  the  forest  thoroughly,  and  could  give  play  to  pow- 
ers of  invention  and  stratagem  which  had  distinguished 
him  as  a  boy.  He  and  his  men  were  overjoyed  at  the 
opportunity  to  engage  in  this  hazardous  warfare,  and 
made  a  good  record.  They  were  of  splendid  service 
to  the  fighting  Baronet.  ' 

At  Crown  Point,  at  the  northern  end  of  Lake  George, 
a  strong  fortification  of  the  French  menaced  the  peace 
of  the  frontier,  and  was  an  effectual  barrier  to  the  ad- 


12  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

vance  of  the  English  upon  Canada.  To  learn  its  strength 
was  one  of  the  first  duties  of  the  British  commander, 
and  so  he  dispatched  "Old  Put"  and  Major  Rogers 
(a  well-known  woodsman)  to  find  out  the  best  method 
of  reaching  their  stockade.  They  were  told  to  "  obtain 
accurate  knowledge  of  the  position  of  the  enemy;  to 
gam  any  intelligence  which  they  could  of  his  movements; 
to  surprise  any  advance  pickets  which  they  could;  and, 
if  they  could  capture  any  stragglers,  to  bring  them  in." 
The  two  sturdy  woodsmen  left  Fort  Edward  —  the 
English  frontier  fortress  on  the  Hudson  River  with 
a  number  of  buckskin  rangers.  Their  men  were  hardy 
fellows,  well  used  to  the  ways  of  the  redskin,  and  well 
able  to  fight  them  with  their  own  method  of  warfare. 
With  silence  and  care  they  threaded  their  way  through 
the  depths  of  the  forest,  and  approached  the  vicinity 
of  Crown  Point  well  prepared  to  meet  any  sortie  of  the 
French  and  Indians. 

It  was  night  when  the  little  party  neared  the  wooden 
walls  of  the  frowning  fortress  at  Crown  Point.  "  Hush !" 
said  Putnam  to  his  men.  "  Let  not  a  single  one  of  you 
show  a  single  light,  for  the  redskin  allies  of  the  French 
are  all  about  us.  We  will  camp  here  without  any  fires, 
and  when  the  first  streak  of  dawn  reddens  the  east,  we 
will  approach  the  fortress  hi  order  to  make  our  observa- 
tions. Remember  what  I  tell  you.  No  lights,  and 
absolutely  no  noise!" 

His  counsel  was  well  heeded.  Silently  and  quietly 
the  men  stopped  to  rest.  WTiile  the  tree-frogs  croaked 
and  the  whippoorwills  called  mournfully  to  each  other 
in  the  dusk,  the  little  band  of  scouts  lay  down  upon  the 


GENERAL   ISRAEL   PUTNAM        13 

fallen  leaves  to  slumber.  With  sentinels  upon  the  look- 
out, they  formed  themselves  in  a  circle,  each  with  his 
ready  rifle  at  his  elbow  and  his  powder  horn  tied  to  the 
barrel,  in  case  of  a  sudden  call  to  arms.  Soon  all  was 
silence  in  the  dark  recesses  of  the  wood,  and  only  a 
soft  pattering  noise  could  be  heard  as  the  moccasins 
of  the  sentinels  crept  across  the  moss  and  carpet  of 
brownish  yellow  leaves. 

At  dawn  every  man  was  up  and  doing,  and,  after 
a  light  repast  of  uncooked  food,  they  moved  off  in  single 
file  towards  the  fortifications  of  the  French.  In  the 
dim  light  of  the  coming  day  men  could  be  heard  in  the 
works:  so  Putnam  and  Rogers  moved  on  alone,  caution- 
ing their  followers  to  come  no  closer,  and  to  wait  for 
them  behind  the  screening  branches  of  some  thick 
bushes. 

"Old  Put,"  creeping  upon  his  hands  and  knees, 
wormed  his  way  to  a  position  where  he  could  see  the 
stockade,  and  get  an  excellent  idea  of  the  strength  of 
the  French  defenses.  Rogers,  the  ranger,  was  a  short 
distance  from  him,  a  bit  in  the  advance,  and  —  wishing 
to  count  the  number  of  cannon  which  the  Canadians 
had  mounted  upon  the  stockade  —  he  had  wriggled  to 
the  top  of  a  small  hillock,  when  a  voice  rang  out,  "  Sap- 
risti!  Eet  ees  an  Eenglish  dog!  Come,  guards,  to 
ze  capture!" 

In  an  instant  Rogers  had  leaped  to  his  feet,  pointing 
his  long  hunting  rifle  at  the  breast  of  a  swarthy  French- 
man, who  was  but  a  pace  off.  "Ta  done!"  shouted  the 
Canadian,  seizing  the  end  of  the  rifle  with  his  left  hand. 
"I  vill  haf  you,  you  spy."  As  he  spoke  he  aimed  a 


14  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

thrust  at  the  body  of  the  ranger,  with  a  long  knife;  but 
Rogers  dodged  the  blow,  grappling  with  his  assailant 
as  he  did  so.  They  rolled  to  the  ground  in  deadly 
embrace. 

Now  "Old  Put"  leaped  upon  them  from  his  hiding- 
place,  realizing  that  did  he  not  act  quickly  the  entire 
garrison  would  be  upon  them.  "Roll  him  over/'  he 
called  to  the  struggling  ranger;  and,  as  Rogers  obeyed, 
the  butt  of  "Old  Put's"  rifle  crushed  the  skull  of  the 
Canadian  soldier.  With  a  groan  he  collapsed  in  the 
tangle  of  brush  and  briars,  as  the  two  English  scouts  — 
perceiving  that  they  must  immediately  fly  —  turned 
about  and  bounded  away  into  the  deep  forest;  while 
behind  them  the  cries  of  the  French  garrison  could  be 
heard,  as  they  swarmed  from  the  fortification  to  rescue 
their  now  dying  comrade.  The  two  fugitives  soon  joined 
their  party,  and,  without  waiting  an  instant,  hurried 
toward  Fort  Edward,  where  the  information  which  they 
brought  was  of  inestimable  value  to  the  commandant. 
"  Mr.  Putnam,"  said  he,  "  you  are  a  soldier  of  whom  the 
army  has  good  reason  to  be  proud.  I  will  employ  you 
soon  again,  and  upon  like  duty." 

But  there  was  to  be  no  duty  for  some  time  to  come, 
as  the  colonial  troops  were  disbanded.  They  had  en- 
listed for  one  campaign  only,  and  realizing  that  it  would 
be  foolhardy  to  attack  the  strong  fortress  at  Crown 
Point,  Sir  William  Johnson  determined  not  to  make 
an  attempt  to  subdue  it  until  the  following  summer. 
"Old  Put"  returned  to  the  domestic  tranquillity  of  his 
farm,  where  his  fifteen-year-old  son  was  in  charge,  and 
where  his  sheep  had  increased  in  peaceful  quiet  since 


GENERAL    ISRAEL   PUTNAM        15 

the  death  of  the  notorious  wolf.  Here  he  was  busily 
engaged  in  his  homely  duties,  when,  one  day  in  spring, 
a  lusty  yeoman  rode  up  to  the  doorway,  and,  dismount- 
ing, soon  found  the  well-known  owner. 

"If  you  want  to  fight  once  more,"  said  he,  "the 
army  is  about  to  have  a  second  brush  with  the  French 
and  Indians;  and  no  one  will  be  more  welcome  among 
the  rangers  than  yourself.  Will  you  come?" 

A  smile  lighted  the  countenance  of  the  courageous 
young  frontiersman,  as  he  responded : 

"Will  I  come?  My  son,  I've  been  itching  for  a  good 
brush  with  the  redskins  for  the  past  three  months.  My 
old  rifle  is  getting  rusty  from  lack  of  use.  Wait  until 
I  kiss  my  wife  and  son  good-bye,  and  then  I'm  off  again 
for  the  dangers  of  the  campaign.  Hurrah!" 

When  the  British  and  American  troops  had  gathered 
at  Fort  Edward  for  an  advance  upon  the  French  strong- 
holds at  Crown  Point  and  Ticonderoga  on  Lake  George, 
"Old  Put"  was  again  sent  forward  to  see  what  he  could 
discover  in  regard  to  the  numbers  of  the  enemy  and  the 
disposition  of  their  forces.  With  him,  this  time,  was  a 
Lieutenant  Durkee,  who  was  as  brave  and  as  skilled 
in  woodcraft  as  was  the  famed  Rogers,  the  ranger. 

The  French  had  a  different  method  of  arranging  their 
sentinels  from  that  of  the  English,  and  this  caused  the 
two  bold  scouts  to  get  into  much  difficulty.  While 
the  English  posted  their  sentinels  near  their  fires,  where 
they  could  often  be  seen  by  the  skulkers,  the  French  and 
Indians  kindled  their  fires  in  the  centre  of  their  line,  and 
posted  their  sentinels  in  the  surrounding  darkness. 
Supposing  the  French  sentinels  to  be  behind  the  fires, 


16  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

Durkee  and  Putnam  crept  stealthily  forward,  and  were 
soon  well  within  the  circle  of  bright  flames.  Suddenly 
a  wild  war-whoop  rang  out,  and  they  found  that  they 
were  discovered  by  their  Indian  enemies.  A  shot 
echoed  in  the  gloom,  which  wounded  Durkee  in  the 
thigh;  and,  perceiving  that  safety  lay  only  in  flight,  the 
two  bold  adventurers  turned  to  make  good  their  escape. 

It  was  intensely  dark.  This  was  fortunate.  As  the 
two  adventurers  plunged  and  stumbled  in  the  direction 
of  their  own  lines,  Putnam  suddenly  fell  forward  into 
a  large  clay-pit.  A  sudden  thud  warned  him  that 
another  man  had  fallen  beside  him.  Thinking  that  it 
was  an  Indian,  he  turned  to  strike  him  with  his  knife, 
but  as  he  did  so  he  recognized  the  voice  of  Durkee. 
"Are  you  hurt?"  said  he.  "No,"  answered  " Old  Put." 
"  Let's  get  out  of  this  as  soon  as  we  can,  for  we  are  abso- 
lutely surrounded  by  red  devils,  who  are  thirsting  for 
a  shot  at  us.  Come  on!  We  will  run  for  it." 

So  jumping  out  of  the  pit,  they  rushed  away  again. 
Crash!  Crash!  sounded  the  volleys  of  lead  in  their 
rear,  and  a  perfect  hail  of  leaden  missiles  fell  around 
them.  The  luck  which  always  pursues  the  great  was 
upon  their  side,  however,  and  they  were  soon  crouching 
behind  a  great  log,  well  beyond  the  range  of  the  hostile 
bullets. 

Putnam  began  to  laugh  as  he  perceived  that  they 
were  now  out  of  all  danger. 

"Let's  drink  to  the  eternal  confusion  of  those  ras- 
cally French  sentinels,"  said  he.  "I've  a  little  ruin  hi 
my  canteen.  Here,  Durkee,  take  a  pull  of  it!" 

His  companion  seized  the  proffered  flask,  but  uttered 


GENERAL   ISRAEL   PUTNAM        17 

a  loud  exclamation.  Alas  for  the  generous  intention  of 
"Old  Put!"  A  bullet  had  gone  clear  through  the  tin, 
and  not  a  single  drop  of  liquor  remained.  But  the  two 
scouts  laughed  at  this;  and  laughed  still  more  next 
day  when  they  found  fourteen  bullet-holes  in  the  blank- 
ets which  they  carried  with  them,  wrapped  around 
their  shoulders.  It  was  a  narrow  escape,  indeed. 

One  more  incident  in  this  campaign  bears  full  witness 
to  the  sureness  of  aim  possessed  by  "  Old  Put." 

A  certain  sentry-post  had  been  repeatedly  fired  upon; 
and  so  accurate  had  been  the  aim  of  him  who  fired  that 
three  English  sentinels  had  thus  been  killed.  Men  dis- 
liked to  be  put  on  guard  at  this  point;  but  "Old  Put" 
was  anxious  for  a  chance  to  go  to  this  position,  and 
asked  to  be  given  an  opportunity  of  watching  for  the 
unseen  enemy  who  was  so  accurate  with  his  rifle  fire. 

"Certainly,  I  will  place  you  there,  Captain  Putnam, 
if  you  so  wish,"  said  the  commanding  officer  to  whom 
Putnam  applied;  "but  the  danger  is  great.  Be  sure 
not  to  recklessly  expose  yourself.  If  you  hear  a  noise 
from  beyond  the  lines,  don't  fire  unless  you  are  certain 
that  it  is  not  one  of  your  own  men  at  whom  you  are 
taking  aim." 

"All  right,"  replied  the  sturdy  farmer  and  soldier; 
"I  will  surely  come  back  from  that  post,  and  you  can 
be  certain  that  no  sneaking  redskin  will  catch  me  nap- 
ping." 

Carefully  selecting  a  position  near  a  shadowy  oak, 
Putnam  was  in  place  by  nightfall,  with  both  eyes  and 
ears  alert  for  any  indication  of  a  skulking  foe.  Silently 
he  tramped  back  and  forth  upon  his  beat;  while  the 


18  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

whippoorwills  called  in  the  sombre  blackness  of  the 
forest,  and  the  tree-toads  made  their  sad  and  unpleasant 
croakings.  Time  passed.  It  was  soon  midnight;  and, 
as  Putnam  rested  in  the  dense  shadow  of  some  hemlock 
trees,  he  heard  the  sharp  rattle  of  pebbles,  as  if  a  fox 
were  skulking  in  the  underbrush.  He  peered  carefully 
into  the  darkness.  A  crunching  sound  came  to  his  ears, 
as  if  some  animal  had  found  food  and  was  munching  it. 
Quickly  his  rifle  was  held  upwards, —  in  instant  readi- 
ness to  be  placed  at  his  shoulder. 

As  he  stood  immovable  he  saw  the  bushes  parting 
very  stealthily,  and  something  dark  was  clearly  visible 
among  them.  "  I  will  give  this  thing,  if  a  man,  a  chance 
for  its  life,"  said  Putnam  to  himself.  "  Who  goes  there?" 
he  called  with  careful  distinctness. 

There  was  no  answer,  and  the  shadowy  form  was 
still. 

Raising  his  rifle  to  his  shoulder,  the  careful  Putnam 
pulled  the  trigger.  The  crack  which  sounded  forth 
was  followed  by  a  groan.  Quickly  loading,  he  fired 
again.  Another  groan  came  to  his  ears,  this  time  plainly 
a  human  one;  and,  darting  forward,  Putnam  saw  lying 
upon  the  sod  the  expiring  form  of  a  burly  Indian  brave, 
his  rifle  clutched  convulsively  in  his  hand.  The  mur- 
derer of  the  sentinels  was  no  more. 

The  war  went  merrily  on.  Both  French  and  English 
determined  to  gain  possession  of  the  continent,  but  it 
was  soon  evident  that  the  English  and  Americans  were 
better  fighters  than  the  French  and  Indians.  Among 
the  Americans  none  was  a  better  frontiersman  than 
Rogers,  the  ranger, —  a  man  of  undaunted  nerve,  cour- 


GENERAL   ISRAEL   PUTNAM        19 

age,  and  skill  in  woodcraft;  a  match  for  any  redskin 
who  ever  trod  the  silent  forest,  and  more  than  a  match 
for  any  white  man.  He  was  ordered,  this  particular 
summer,  to  embark  a  force  of  one  hundred  men  —  with 
Captain  Putnam  along  —  and  to  row  down  Lake  George 
to  assault  a  body  of  about  six  hundred  French  and 
Indians,  who  had  just  made  a  successful  attack  upon  a 
detachment  of  Americans  guarding  a  train  of  provisions, 
en  route  for  the  British  camp.  The  French  were  in 
boats,  and,  realizing  that  the  best  place  to  attack  them 
was  in  the  narrows,  the  two  American  soldiers  soon 
had  their  men  in  boats  and  canoes,  and  had  them 
concealed  on  either  side  of  the  winding  sheet  of  water, 
through  which  the  French  had  to  pass. 

Patiently  they  waited,  and  before  very  long  the 
batteaux  of  the  enemy  came  slowly  down  the  lake. 
A  wind  in  the  rear  helped  the  boats  along;  and  as  they 
came  to  a  position  directly  opposite  the  bank  upon 
which  the  frontiersmen  were  resting,  Putnam  gave  a 
low  whistle.  Immediately  fire  belched  from  the  hun- 
dred rifles,  many  oarsmen  fell  prostrate  upon  their  seats, 
and  a  few  lurched  into  the  water.  Volley  after  volley 
resounded,  and,  amid  the  rain  of  balls,  the  French 
made  a  vain  attempt  to  reply.  A  few  of  the  boats  were 
totally  disabled;  but  a  few,  driven  by  the  force  of  the 
severe  wind,  drifted  down  through  the  narrows,  to 
escape  to  Fort  Ticonderoga  (a  French  stronghold), 
where  the  garrison  was  immediately  informed  of  the 
presence  of  the  band  under  Putnam  and  Rogers.  It 
was  not  long  before  a  body  of  three  hundred  fresh  troops, 
French  and  Indian,  had  left  the  Fort  in  order  to  cut  off 


20  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

the  successful  adventurers  before  they  could  return  to 
Fort  Edward, —  the  British  stronghold  from  which 
they  had  started. 

The  chronicles  of  the  period  say  that  Rogers  and 
Putnam  were  fully  twenty  miles  from  their  boats  and 
canoes, —  but  I  doubt  this.  They  had,  undoubtedly, 
some  distance  to  go  through  the  woods  before  they 
found  them;  but  this  distance  was  probably  about  five 
miles.  At  any  rate,  as  they  hastened  toward  the  foot 
of  Lake  George,  they  were  sighted  by  the  pursuing 
French  and  Indians;  who,  confident  of  soon  overcoming 
this  small  force,  set  up  a  mighty  yell  of  joy  as  they 
advanced  to  the  attack. 

"Swing  the  canoes  across  the  lake  hi  two  lines," 
shouted  Putnam  to  his  men.  "We'll  teach  these 
Frenchies  not  to  follow  us!  Don't  waste  a  shot,  and 
aim  low  whatever  you  do!" 

As  he  spoke  the  men  obeyed  him,  and  the  French 
and  Indians  came  on  with  a  will.  Crash!  Crash! 
sounded  the  volleys  from  Rogers'  and  Putnam's  men. 
A  small  cannon  in  one  of  the  English  boats  struck  a 
French  boat  and  scuttled  her.  Oars  were  splintered; 
men  fell  into  the  water  on  every  side;  and,  although 
the  French  replied  with  spirit,  the  aim  of  the  Americans 
was  so  accurate  that  they  were  forced  to  retire.  "We 
are  beaten!"  shouted  a  French  officer.  "We  must  go 
back."  And  so  they  withdrew  to  recover,  while  the 
men  under  the  two  American  frontiersmen  turned  and 
paddled  swiftly  towards  the  southern  end  of  Lake 
George.  It  is  said  that  five  hundred  Frenchmen  were 
disabled,  and  only  one  Englishman, —  an  erroneous 


GENERAL   ISRAEL   PUTNAM        21 

statement,  no  doubt.  At  any  rate,  the  French  had 
enough  of  fighting,  and  did  not  pursue,  while  the  little 
band  of  rangers  marched  into  Ticonderoga  with  wild 
hallooings  and  songs  of  victory.  They  had  certainly 
given  a  good  account  of  themselves. 

"  Old  Put,"  you  can  see,  was  in  all  kinds  of  hazard- 
ous adventures.  He  was  strong,  active,  nervy,  and 
cool  in  difficulty  and  danger.  With  an  eye  like  a  hawk's 
he  could  shoot  as  straight  as  could  the  celebrated  Daniel 
Boone,  and  he  rarely  missed  his  man.  A  hundred  times 
he  would  have  been  caught  or  captured  had  his  quick- 
ness and  ability  not  extricated  him  from  the  dangerous 
position  in  which  he  had  been  placed.  Had  he  lived 
today,  he  would  have  been  the  champion  shot  of  a 
modern  gun  club,  and  would  have  been  an  athlete  of 
distinction,  with  honors  won  in  a  hundred  contests. 
He  kept  no  careful  journal,  as  did  Washington  and 
Jefferson.  All  that  we  know  of  this  intrepid  and  daunt- 
less spirit  has  come  down  to  us  from  a  few  stories  in 
old  newspapers,  and  from  a  few  tales  handed  down  from 
mouth  to  mouth.  Naturally  there  is  much  that  can 
never  be  known  of  his  woodland  escapades,  and  this 
is,  of  course,  most  unfortunate. 

An  incident  which  soon  occurred  gives  ample  proof 
of  his  extraordinary  coolness.  Had  he  for  one  instant 
lost  his  head,  he  could  never  have  extricated  himself 
from  the  position  in  which  he  was  soon  to  find  himself. 

One  day,  with  a  few  men,  the  gallant  soldier  was 
in  a  boat  on  the  eastern  side  of  the  Hudson  River.  Sud- 
denly a  warning  whistle  from  the  opposite  shore  told 
him  that  he  was  in  danger;  while,  soon  afterwards,  a 


22  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

companion  shouted  to  him  that  a  force  of  Indians  was 
descending  upon  his  position  from  the  upper  portion 
of  the  stream.  Below  were  a  spuming  waterfall  and 
rapids  of  unknown  dangers.  What  was  he  to  do? 
Even  as  the  warning  reached  him,  the  Indians  were  in 
view,  and  he  was  in  easy  range  of  their  rifles.  Should 
he  cross  the  river  to  his  companions,  he  would  un- 
doubtedly be  killed  by  the  unerring  aim  of  the  enemy. 
There  was  one  course  open.  He  chose  it;  and  turning 
the  bow  of  the  boat  towards  the  rapids,  was  soon  headed 
for  the  eddying  current.  One  of  his  men  fell  from  a 
volley  by  the  redskins.  The  Indians  gave  a  loud  yell 
as  they  saw  the  little  boat  swirl  into  the  current  of  boil- 
ing froth  and  foam.  Even  Putnam's  companions 
looked  about  them  in  terror  as  the  boat  whirled  down 
the  seething  course,  but  "Old  Put"  did  not  once  lose 
his  unfailing  courage  in  adversity.  Seizing  an  oar,  he 
stuck  it  through  a  rowlock  in  the  stern,  and  guided  the 
little  vessel  through  the  foaming  vortex.  "  Ugh !  Ugh ! " 
cried  the  red  men.  "The  Great  Spirit  is  with  him. 
Ugh!  Ugh!  He  has  a  charmed  life.  See!  He  goes 
through  the  big  waters.  He  comes  out  at  the  other 
end.  He  is  one  of  the  Great  Spirit's  children.  We 
will  not  again  shoot  at  the  man  with  the  courage  from 
the  Mighty  One.  Ugh!  Ugh!  He  is  charmed  with 
the  magic  of  our  ancestors." 

Thus  the  valiant  ranger  escaped,  and  thus  his  fame 
became  so  well  established  among  the  red  men  that 
they  ever  afterwards  feared  him,  and  could  scarcely  be 
led  on  to  the  attack  by  the  French  when  they  knew 
that  "Old  Put"  opposed  their  line. 


GENERAL   ISRAEL   PUTNAM        23 

At  the  close  of  the  year  1756,  it  looked  black  for 
the  English  cause  in  the  New  World;  but  by  July  of 
1758,  the  tide  had  turned,  and  the  French  were  put 
upon  the  defensive.  Sir  Jeffrey  Amherst  captured 
Louisburg,  a  strong  French  fortress  on  Cape  Breton 
Isle;  Fort  Duquesne  (now  Pittsburg,  Pa.)  was  taken; 
and  Amherst  took  the  field  at  Lake  George,  and  drove 
the  French  and  Indians  from  Ticonderoga  and  Crown 
Point.  France,  under  a  corrupt  government  at  home, 
was  becoming  nerveless,  and  gave  its  American  settle- 
ments but  little  assistance. 

While  fierce  fighting  was  going  on  near  Lake  George, 
Rogers  and  Putnam  were  dispatched  to  cut  off  a  party 
of  the  enemy  that  had  plundered  a  train  of  baggage 
teams.  The  French  heard  of  their  approach,  and  es- 
caped to  their  canoes.  They  were  far  up  the  lake  when 
the  rangers  reached  its  edge;  and,  with  many  cursings 
upon  their  misfortunes,  the  men  in  buckskin  started 
homewards  toward  Fort  Edward,  with  some  hope  of 
surprising  some  straggling  party  of  the  enemy.  Through 
the  thick  forest  they  crept  in  single  file,  Major  Putnam 
leading,  and  Rogers,  the  famous  ranger,  in  the  rear. 

Now  it  was  common  talk  among  the  soldiers  that 
Rogers  was  very  jealous  of  "Old  Put."  Both  were 
fearless  men.  Both  were  great  scouts  and  woodsmen. 
Both  excelled  with  the  rifle  and  in  woodcraft.  Just  as 
boys  are  jealous  of  each  other,  so  are  men;  and  in  the 
breast  of  the  far-famed  ranger  slumbered  the  fire  of 
bitter  envy. 

As  they  pressed  forward,  Rogers  amused  himself 
with  a  trial  of  skill  with  a  British  officer,  and  in  firing 


24  FAMOUS    SCOUTS 

at  a  mark.  All  know  that  this  was  arrant  foolishness. 
Where  the  greatest  silence  should  have  been  kept,  be- 
cause the  woods  were  filled  with  enemies,  these  two 
overgrown  boys  began  to  whoop  and  laugh  over  their 
poor  shooting.  Sounds  carry  far  in  the  stillness  of  the 
vast  northern  woodland,  and  it  was  not  long  before  the 
noise  of  this  silly  play  came  to  the  ears  of  some  rene- 
gade Indian  scouts.  "Hist!"  said  they.  "The  English 
are  near.  Let  us  tell  the  white  General." 

So,  as  Putnam's  little  party  again  resumed  the 
march,  an  ambuscade  of  eager  French  and  Indians 
awaited  them.  Under  Molang  —  an  able  soldier  — 
this  body  of  enemies  was  effectively  arranged,  so  that 
it  was  well-nigh  impossible  for  gallant  Putnam  and  his 
men  to  escape  their  murderous  rifle  fire;  and  soon, 
with  a  wild,  ear-splitting  yell,  the  woodland  echoed 
with  the  volleys  of  those  hidden  in  ambush. 

An  English  captain  called  Dalyell,  who  was  in  the 
centre  of  the  line,  immediately  moved  up  to  help  "  Old 
Put."  But  the  arrogant  Rogers  —  filled  with  jealousy, 
no  doubt  —  formed  a  circular  file  between  Putnam's 
and  DalyelPs  commands, —  apparently  in  readiness  to 
prevent  an  attack  from  the  rear.  He  made  no  move 
to  come  to  the  aid  of  the  Connecticut  wolf-killer,  who 
was  soon  surrounded  by  numerous  painted  braves. 
The  English  officers  and  men  fought  with  desperate 
valor,  from  behind  stumps,  tree  trunks,  and  logs.  Thus 
they  were  struggling,  when  a  powerful  Indian  Chief 
sprang  forward  towards  the  valorous  "Old  Put,"  who 
raised  his  rifle  to  fire.  Alas!  It  refused  to  go  off;  and, 
as  the  tomahawk  of  the  red  man  gleamed  above  his  head, 


GENERAL   ISRAEL   PUTNAM        25 

the  American  major  cried  out  reluctantly,  "I  surrender. 
I  am  your  prisoner."  He  was  immediately  disarmed, 
and  bound  to  a  tree,  while  his  captor  re-entered  the 
fray. 

As  "Old  Put"  remained  tied  to  the  tree,  the  fight 
ebbed  and  flowed  about  him.  Bullets  of  both  friend 
and  foe  cut  his  clothing,  and  knocked  chips  from  the 
bark  of  the  very  oak  to  which  he  was  attached;  and, 
worse  than  this,  an  Indian  brave  amused  himself  by 
hurling  his  tomahawk  near  his  head  five  or  six  times, — 
just  grazing  his  face  by  a  hair's  breadth  upon  several 
occasions,  and  yelping  with  joy  at  the  discomfiture  of 
the  American  officer.  But  fortunately  the  fight  ebbed 
by  his  position,  for  a  moment,  and  the  miscreant  was 
driven  into  the  underbrush  by  several  well-directed 
shots  from  some  of  Rogers'  rangers. 

Putnam  was  not  to  be  left  alone  for  long.  As  the 
French  and  their  allies  drove  the  Americans  once  more 
beyond  the  tree,  a  young  French  officer  ran  up,  and, 
levelling  his  musket  at  Putnam's  breast,  pulled  the 
trigger.  As  luck  would  have  it,  it  failed  to  go  off.  "  I 
am  a  prisoner  of  war,  Monsieur,"  cried  "Old  Put." 
"You  should  treat  me  as  such." 

"You  deserve  death,  you  American  dog,"  answered 
the  Frenchman  in  a  rage,  striking  him  in  the  ribs  with 
his  musket.  "Here,  take  this!"  and,  so  saying,  he  beat 
him  violently  in  the  jaw  with  the  butt-end  of  his  musket. 

Just  then,  with  a  wild  cheer,  the  Americans  charged 
upon  their  enemies,  and  drove  them  back.  "Ah!  I 
will  be  free,"  thought  Major  Putnam;  but  no  such  luck 
was  to  come  to  him.  As  the  redskins  retired,  the  same 


26  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

burly  Indian  who  had  captured  the  stout-hearted  soldier 
ran  up  and  unbound  him.  He  was  seized  by  four  others, 
and,  in  spite  of  his  struggles,  was  carried  along  with  the 
retreating  allies.  His  wrists  were  bound  together  with 
deer  thongs.  Four  packs  were  tied  to  his  back;  and 
he  was  commanded  to  carry  them,  or  suffer  death.  So 
he  struggled  forward,  until,  bleeding  and  exhausted,  he 
cried  out  in  half  French,  "Pray  kill  me,  for  death  is 
better  than  this." 

A  French  officer  heard  his  words,  and,  drawing  his 
sword,  ordered  the  savages  to  unbind  the  thongs  upon 
the  captive's  wrists.  "Here  are  a  pair  of  moccasins," 
said  he.  "  I  perceive  that  your  feet  are  bleeding.  These 
Indian  dogs  never  know  how  to  treat  a  prisoner.  They 
are  brutes." 

Gallant  Putnam  now  thought  that  he  would  receive 
good  treatment,  but  he  was  mistaken.  No  sooner  had 
he  arrived  at  camp,  that  evening,  than  he  was  carried 
off  to  the  Indian  encampment  without  a  protest  from 
a  French  officer  or  soldier.  His  fears  that  he  would 
have  to  run  the  gauntlet  were  soon  put  at  rest;  for  he 
discovered  the  Indian  women  piling  brush  around  a 
tall  stake,  and  realized,  with  a  shudder,  that  he  was  to 
be  burned  alive.  He  was  stripped,  carried  to  the 
stake,  and  bound  to  it  so  that  he  could  not  possibly 
escape;  while  the  redskins  leaped  about  in  a  wild  frenzy, 
cut  at  him  with  knives  and  tomahawks,  and  made 
many  a  scar  which  marked  him  throughout  the  rest  of 
his  days. 

At  length  the  torch  was  applied,  and  the  flames 
began  to  crackle  beneath  the  feet  of  the  helpless  soldier. 


GENERAL   ISRAEL   PUTNAM        27 

Wild  yelpings  sounded  in  the  dark  forest,  as  the  red- 
skins leaped  about  in  murderous  joy.  Hope  died  in 
his  heart.  He  resigned  himself  to  his  fate, —  when 
suddenly  a  shout  was  heard.  "Cease,  you  brutal  red 
men,"  came  the  voice  of  Molang,  commander  of  the 
French  force.  "Unhand  this  brave  American,  or  I 
will  kill  you  all."  And  rushing  into  the  flame,  the 
officer  quickly  cut  the  thongs  which  held  the  half  faint- 
ing Putnam  to  the  stake.  Staggering  into  the  open, 
the  half -burned  ranger  was  assisted  to  the  French  camp 
by  his  deliverer;  who  there  gave  him  food  and  clothes, 
and,  what  was  still  more  useful,  protection  from  his 
inhuman  tormentors.  It  was  an  episode  which  had 
tried  out  all  the  courage  and  endurance  that  he  pos- 
sessed,—  and  he  had  escaped  death  by  a  hair's  breadth. 
No  wonder  that  he  looked  ten  years  older  when  next 
he  was  seen  by  his  followers  who  had  fought  with  him 
in  the  dense  woodland  near  Lake  George. 

When  one  passes  up  this  quiet  sheet  of  water  now- 
adays it  is  hard  to  realize  that  the  little  picture  lake 
was  once  the  scene  of  such  fights,  tortures,  and  bloody 
attacks  and  repulses.  Surrounded  by  magnificent 
forests,  which  reflect  themselves  in  the  calm  surface 
of  the  blue  water,  it  is  such  a  restful,  peaceful,  and 
poetic  vista,  that  the  cruelties  of  savage  warfare  seem 
hardly  to  have  a  place  in  such  a  setting.  All  is  as  clean 
as  a  gentleman's  park.  The  woodland  is  as  beautiful 
as  that  in  a  fairy  book.  When  last  I  viewed  it,  no  dead 
wood  marred  the  perfect  verdure.  A  number  of  hotels 
graced  the  curving  banks  of  the  gentle,  calm-faced 
lake,  and  a  score  of  sail-boats  and  canoes  of  summer 


28  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

campers  dotted  the  water.  Civilization  and  refine- 
ment enjoyed  a  quiet  which  not  long  before  had  been 
disturbed  by  the  most  savage  and  cruel  of  wars.  Peace 
reigned  where  once  had  been  chaos. 

When  Putnam  reached  Fort  Ticonderoga  he  was 
placed  under  the  guard  of  French  soldiers,  and,  needless 
to  remark,  was  not  tortured  or  harassed  by  them.  He 
was  sent  to  Montreal;  and,  as  the  English  soon  captured 
Fort  Frontenac,  an  exchange  of  prisoners  made  it  pos- 
sible for  him  to  return  once  more  to  his  own  lines.  He 
was  welcomed  by  his  soldiers  with  hilarious  shouts  of 
joy;  for  long  since  they  had  given  him  up  for  dead. 
Things  were  going  well  with  the  English  cause.  Ticon- 
deroga and  Crown  Point  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  British, 
and,  before  very  long,  Quebec  also  yielded  before  the 
onslaughts  of  Wolfe. 

Montreal  was  next  to  be  attacked,  as  it  was  the  last 
place  of  any  size  still  held  by  the  men  of  sunny  France. 
We  find  "  Old  Put,"  in  1760,  as  a  lieutenant-colonel  in 
the  British  army,  about  to  assault  this  place;  and  to 
him  much  is  accredited  for  an  English  victory.  On 
an  island  hi  the  river  was  a  strong  French  garrison, 
which  had  to  be  dislodged  before  the  town  could  be 
properly  approached;  but  two  armed  vessels,  of  twelve 
guns  each,  protected  it  against  an  onrush  of  the  small 
British  batteaux.  One  broadside  from  a  single  boat 
could  crush  the  entire  fleet  which  was  necessary  for  the 
transportation  of  the  English.  The  question  was,  how 
to  destroy  these  two  ships. 

While  General  Amherst,  the  English  leader,  was 
reflecting  upon  this  subject, "  Old  Put"  approached  him. 


GENERAL    ISRAEL    PUTNAM        29 

"General,"  said  he,  "those  ships  must  be  taken,  at 
all  hazards." 

"Yes,"  answered  the  commander.  "I  would  give 
a  half-year's  pay,  egad,  if  one  of  them  were  taken." 

"I'll  take  one  of  them,  sir,"  cried  the  ingenious 
Yankee. 

Amherst  smiled  incredulously.  "Pray,  how,  my 
brave  fellow?"  said  he.  "Pray  how,  and  when?" 

"  Give  me  some  wedges,  a  mallet,  and  a  few  men  of 
my  own  choosing, —  and  I  guarantee  that,  in  four 
hours'  time,  I'll  have  a  French  vessel  useless  for  de- 
fense." 

"All  right,"  cried  Amherst,  catching  some  of  Put- 
nam's enthusiasm.  "Go  ahead  —  and  win!" 

At  nightfall,  brave  "Put"  was  ready.  Selecting 
a  dozen  chosen  men,  he  placed  them  in  a  light  boat, 
and,  with  muffled  oars,  rowed  towards  the  French 
vessel,  just  as  it  became  quite  dark.  They  stole  un- 
perceived  under  the  stern, —  for  the  French  were  so 
confident  of  their  safety  that  they  kept  a  poor  watch. 
Noiselessly  some  wooden  wedges  were  driven  between 
the  rudder  and  sternpost,  so  as  to  make  the  rudder 
absolutely  useless.  Then,  pulling  carefully  to  the  bow, 
the  hawser  was  severed,  and  the  vessel  was  left  to  drift 
with  a  tide  which  was  sending  her  towards  the  shore 
upon  which  rested  the  English  troopers.  She  swung 
slowly  to  her  doom,  while  the  French  sentries  slept 
on,  unaware  of  the  danger  that  threatened  them. 

In  several  hours  the  boat  ran  ashore;  and,  with  a 
wild  cheer,  the  British  and  Americans  were  soon  upon 
the  deck.  Without  firing  a  shot,  the  crew  surrendered; 


30  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

and  as  the  other  boat  was  soon  surrounded  by  a  number 
of  whaleboats,  manned  by  soldiers,  and  with  heavy 
guns  in  each  prow,  she  too  ran  up  the  white  flag.  The 
way  was  now  open  to  an  attack  upon  Montreal,  and 
only  because  of  the  genius  and  daring  of  "Old  Put", 
to  whom  Abercrombie  is  said  to  have  remarked,  "To 
you,  Colonel,  is  due  my  victory;  and  should  you  ever 
wish  a  commission  in  the  King's  army,  pray  call  upon 
me  for  my  assistance.  If  any  man  is  worthy  of  high 
command,  that  fellow  is  yourself." 

Montreal  soon  fell,  and  Canada  became  a  British 
dependency,  which  she  has  since  remained;  although 
her  people  will,  no  doubt,  some  day  either  form  an 
independent  state,  or  amalgamate  with  the  United 
States.  Soon  after  the  capitulation  of  the  French  at 
their  last  standing-ground,  Putnam  met  the  vigorous 
Indian  brave  who  had  captured  him  in  the  woodland 
near  Fort  Edward.  "How!  How!"  said  the  redskin. 
"You  are  one  brave  man.  When  you  need  a  warrior 
in  any  of  your  paleface  wars,  call  upon  me.  Ugh!  I 
can  fight  for  such  a  brave  warrior  as  yourself.  Ugh! 
Ugh!  I  would  follow  you  to  the  end  of  the  world." 

Although  the  war  was  ended,  "Old  Put"  was  not 
yet  to  retire  to  the  paths  of  peaceful  labor  on  the  farm. 
He  was  in  a  British  expedition  to  Havana,  in  the  West 
Indies,  hi  1762;  and  also  was  with  Bradstreet's  forces 
which  marched  to  relieve  the  brave  Major  Gladwyn, 
besieged  by  Pontiac  and  his  red  warriors  at  Detroit 
in  1764.  This  has  been  fully  described  in  "Famous 
Indian  Chiefs";  and  one  can  but  bestow  the  greatest 
praise  upon  the  brave  English  who  marched  and  fought 


GENERAL   ISRAEL   PUTNAM        31 

in  this  desperate  affair.  Colonel  Putnam  commanded 
the  troops  from  Connecticut;  and,  as  his  allies,  had 
Joseph  Brant,  the  celebrated  Mohawk  chieftain  who 
fought  so  bitterly  against  the  Americans  in  the  Revolu- 
tion; and  also  the  old  Indian  warrior  who  had  captured 
him  at  Lake  George.  As  you  know,  the  British  won; 
Pontiac  was  defeated  and  murdered  by  one  of  his  own 
race;  and,  when  peace  once  more  came  to  the  frontier, 
the  war-begrimed  "Old  Put"  returned  at  last  to  the 
long-neglected  farm  in  Connecticut.  He  had  won  new 
laurels.  His  courage,  complete  indifference  to  danger, 
and  fruitfulness  of  resource  when  under  fire,  com- 
manded the  respect  and  admiration  of  all. 

For  ten  years  he  had  been  actively  engaged  in  war; 
but  for  many  years  longer  he  was  to  continue  to  hear 
the  roar  and  rattle  of  arms.  Although  preferring  the 
peaceful  repose  of  the  farm  to  the  shock  of  battle,  when 
the  storm  of  the  American  Revolution  broke  over  the 
colonies,  "Old  Put"  was  among  the  first  to  join  the 
cause  of  the  people  of  America  against  Great  Britain. 
He  was  ploughing  in  a  field  with  a  yoke  of  oxen,  when 
a  drummer-boy  came  riding  down  the  road.  "Open 
hostilities  with  Great  Britain  have  commenced,"  cried 
he.  "Our  men  have  been  fired  upon  at  Lexington. 
To  arms!  To  arms!"  In  a  few  minutes  the  bold  old 
campaigner  had  put  his  oxen  in  the  barn,  had  mounted 
his  horse,  and  was  spurring  for  Boston.  In  twenty- 
four  hours  he  rode  the  one  hundred  miles  that  inter- 
vened between  his  farm  and  this  important  city,  and 
saw  for  himself  that  war  was  begun.  "I'll  fight  for 
Connecticut  and  the  Continentals,"  cried  he.  "Til 


32  FAMOUS    SCOUTS 

never  pay  these  infernal  taxes  to  Great  Britain  without 
representation  in  their  parliament.  No,  I  am  for 
battle." 

When  the  noted  fighter  returned  to  his  farm  he  found 
the  whole  country  in  a  furor.  All,  save  a  very  few, 
were  for  armed  resistance  to  Great  Britain.  Most  were 
for  fight,  not  compromise.  The  legislature  of  Con- 
necticut made  him  a  brigadier-general.  He  well  de- 
served the  honor,  for  his  reputation  in  the  French  and 
Indian  War,  and  in  the  Pontiac  Rebellion,  had  been 
brilliant.  So  well,  indeed,  was  he  thought  of  by  the 
British,  that  he  was  offered  a  commission  of  major- 
general  in  their  own  army,  with  posts  of  honor,  also, 
for  his  sons.  "I'll  never  serve  the  King  again,"  "Old 
Put"  is  said  to  have  remarked  at  these  overtures.  "  He 
has  paid  me  well,  'tis  true,  but  I'll  fight  for  no  man  who 
treats  his  people  as  he  has  treated  us.  My  cause  is  that 
of  my  countrymen.  Away  with  such  offers." 

"Old  Put"  was  very  much  in  evidence  at  the  first 
real  fight  of  the  Revolution,  at  Bunker  Hill.  Wash- 
ington greatly  admired  him.  "You  seem  to  have  the 
faculty,  sir,  of  infusing  your  own  industry  and  spirit 
into  the  men  whom  you  employ,"  he  is  reported  to  have 
said  to  the  old  veteran.  "  You  are  a  valuable  man,  sir, 
and  I  trust  that  we  shall  see  service  together  in  many 
fields."  You  all  know  how  the  British  charged  many 
times  against  the  redoubt  of  the  Americans;  and,  al- 
though suffering  terrible  slaughter,  carried  it,  at  length, 
because  the  powder  of  the  Continentals  gave  out.  Put- 
nam was  often  upon  the  rampart,  urging  on  his  men, 
but  he  was  never  struck  by  a  bullet.  His  old  com- 


GENERAL   ISRAEL   PUTNAM        33 

mander,  General  Abercrombie,  led  one  of  the  assaults 
upon  the  hill,  in  person.  "If  you  take  General  Put- 
nam," he  cried  to  his  men,  "do  not  hang  him,  for  he 
is  a  brave  and  noble  fellow."  Shortly  afterwards  the 
gallant  Britisher  was  struck  by  a  ball,  and  went  down; 
but  his  men  swept  over  the  rampart,  to  see  the  Con- 
tinentals making  a  vigorous  retreat,  —  among  them 
"Old  Put,"  who  brought  them  off  in  good  order,  and 
presented  a  solid  front  to  the  advancing  British,  in 
spite  of  the  lack  of  ammunition. 

Not  long  after  this  "Old  Put"  had  a  rather  interest- 
ing affair  with  a  British  officer,  on  parole,  who  took 
offense  at  some  of  the  general's  reflections  upon  the 
character  of  the  British,  and  demanded  satisfaction 
in  a  duel.  "Certainly,  sir,  I  will  grant  your  request," 
cried  the  American  soldier.  "But,  as  you  have  chal- 
lenged me,  I  have  the  choice  of  weapons.  I  will  meet 
you  tomorrow  hi  a  clearing  in  yonder  woodland,  where 
—  by  all  that  is  true  —  you  will  rue  the  day  that  ever 
you  challenged  me."  So  saying,  he  walked  away, 
humming  a  tune. 

When  the  proper  time  for  the  duel  arrived,  the 
Englishman  found  Putnam  at  the  appointed  spot;  un- 
armed, save  for  his  sword,  and  sitting  upon  the  side  of 
a  powder-barrel,  calmly  smoking  a  pipe.  There  was 
a  small  opening  in  the  top  of  the  barrel,  in  which  was 
inserted  a  fuse. 

"Pray  seat  yourself  here,"  said  "Old  Put,"  point- 
ing to  his  side,  and,  as  he  did  so,  he  lighted  the  fuse 
with  his  pipe. 

"  I  reckon  that  our  chances  are  about  equal,"  said  he. 


34  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

For  a  moment  the  Englishman  watched  the  burn- 
ing fuse.  Then,  as  it  crept  down  to  the  powder,  he 
jumped  up,  and  ran  headlong  into  the  forest. 

Putnam  burst  into  a  hearty  laugh. 

"You  are  just  as  brave  as  I  took  you  to  be,"  said 
he,  as  he  strolled  leisurely  towards  the  pale-faced  Brit- 
isher, who  had  now  halted.  "That  is  nothing,  my 
bold  soldier,  but  a  barrel  of  onions,  with  a  few  grains  of 
powder  scattered  over  the  top,  in  order  to  try  your 
nerve.  Ah!  But  I  see  that  you  don't  relish  the  smell. 
Good  day,  sir.  I  consider  that  my  honor,  and  yours, 
also,  has  been  well  satisfied."  And,  so  saying,  he 
walked  away. 

Not  long  afterwards  he  did  a  feat  of  bravery  that 
gave  him  renewed  fame  as  a  man  of  resource  and 
nerve. 

When  in  the  vicinity  of  Horseneck,  New  York, 
where  the  American  army  had  retreated,  he  was  one 
day  out  scouting,  and  was  seen  by  six  British  hussars, 
well  mounted  and  well  equipped.  Putting  spurs  to 
their  steeds  they  galloped  after  "Old  Put,"  and  soon 
were  so  close  that  he  saw  he  must  retreat,  or  be  cap- 
tured. So,  digging  his  heels  into  his  horse's  flanks, 'he 
turned  to  fly.  Leaping  over  several  rail  fences  and 
boulders,  he  soon  found  himself  upon  the  brink  of  a 
steep  precipice.  Should  he  go  on,  or  turn  back?  He 
gave  one  thought,  and  then,  hitting  his  steed  a  fierce 
rap  with  his  hand,  deliberately  leaped  down  the  steep 
decline. 

Fortune  favors  the  brave.  As  he  reached  the  bot- 
tom, the  hussars  arrived  at  the  top  of  the  gorge.  Their 


GENERAL   ISRAEL   PUTNAM        35 

amazement  can  well  be  imagined,  as  they  saw  the  ro- 
tund form  of  "Old  Put"  swiftly  disappearing  down 
the  valley  beneath  them.  "By  Heavens!"  cried  one. 
"There  is  truly  a  brave  man.  I,  for  one,  would  not 
fire  at  such  a  true  soldier.  Let  us  let  him  depart  in 
peace."  And  to  this  the  others  smilingly  agreed. 
"For,"  said  one,  "he  is  a  wonder,  and  deserves  a  place 
with  Pegasus,  the  renowned  winged  horse  of  ancient 
history.  Hurrah  for  yonder  American!" 

A  life  hi  the  woods,  exposed  to  every  variation  of 
the  elements,  with  improper  covering  and  improper 
food,  will  break  the  frame  of  the  strongest.  "Old 
Put"  had  roughed  it  in  many  a  storm,  and  had  sub- 
jected himself  to  so  much  hardship  that  at  length 
the  privation  which  he  had  undergone  began  to  tell 
upon  his  rugged  constitution.  Early  in  December, 
1779,  he  began  to  feel  unwell,  obtained  leave  of  absence, 
and  went  to  visit  his  family  in  Connecticut.  He  was 
received  with  the  greatest  regard  and  affection;  and  he 
deserved  it. 

Before  the  close  of  the  month  he  began  to  return  to 
the  army,  riding  his  favorite  horse  that  had  saved  his 
life  by  leaping  with  him  down  the  gorge.  When  a 
few  miles  from  his  own  home,  a  numbness  seized  upon 
him;  and  he  found,  to  his  distress,  that  he  was  unable 
to  move  either  the  arm  or  leg  upon  one  side  of  his  body. 
He  reached  the  house  of  a  friend;  was  assisted  to  the 
ground,  and  soon  saw  that  an  attack  of  paralysis  had 
seized  him.  "  By  Heavens !"  he  cried,  not  ill-humoredly, 
when  he  discovered  what  was  the  matter  with  him, 
"  I'll  never  again  fight  for  flag  or  country.  But  —  as 


36  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

all  clocks  have  to  stop  —  I  believe  I  must  be  sort  of 
run  down.  At  any  rate,  I've  done  my  duty." 

"Old  Put"  recovered  somewhat.  He  recovered  to 
such  an  extent  that  he  could  take  moderate  exercise 
in  walking  and  riding  for  full  ten  years.  His  mental 
faculties  were  unimpaired;  and  for  all  that  time  he 
enjoyed  his  quiet  existence,  retaining  undiminished 
his  love  of  humor,  pleasantry,  and  social  enjoyment. 
At  length  he  died  quietly  at  his  farm,  surrounded  by 
his  family  and  loving  neighbors,  who  buried  him  with 
all  the  honor  it  was  possible  to  bestow  upon  one  who 
had  so  prominently  figured  in  the  history  of  the  New 
World.  Peace  to  "Old  Put,"  the  hardy  adventurer 
and  master  of  woodland  campaigning.  He  lived  his 
rough  life  well,  and  his  name  should  be  honored  by 
all. 

It  seems  strange  to  think  that  when  this  celebrated 
soldier  was  a  boy,  the  frontier  was  near  the  Hudson 
in  New  York.  He  had  helped  to  make  history.  First 
he  had  battled  for  the  cause  of  England  against  the 
French  and  their  red-skinned  allies.  He  had  seen  the 
lilies  of  France  driven  from  the  New  World.  He  had 
been  present  at  one  of  the  most  memorable  Indian 
sieges  of  history, —  that  of  Detroit.  He  had  witnessed 
the  triumph  of  the  white  over  the  red  men,  as  far  west 
as  the  Mississippi.  Again  he  had  seen  what  the  English 
had  captured  wrested  from  their  grasp  by  their  own 
sons.  He  had  been  prominent  in  three  wars.  He  had 
fought  for  three  causes.  And  with  it  all,  he  had  been 
an  industrious  and  sensible  man;  a  good  husband  and 
father;  an  excellent  soldier;  a  fighter  full  of  nerve  and 


GENERAL   ISRAEL   PUTNAM        37 

courage.  All  honor  to  this  hardy  pioneer;  if  such 
talents  as  his  are  preserved  in  the  Republic,  it  will 
never  lack  for  leaders  when  the  time  and  events  shall 
need  them. 


DANIEL  BOONE:  COURAGEOUS  EXPLOR- 
ER, AND  THE  FIRST  PIONEER 
OF  KENTUCKY 

IN  the  month  of  July,  1899,  I  was  sitting  at 
Moener's  Ferry  on  the  south  bank  of  the  Snake 
River  in  Wyoming.  To  the  southwest  rose 
the  three  glorious  peaks  of  the  brownish-yellow  Tetous, 
and  all  around  stretched  the  yellow,  arid,  sagebrush 
plateau.  On  a  log  before  me  sat  a  man  of  fifty  odd, 
with  a  seamed  face  and  squinting  blue  eyes.  He  re- 
sided in  a  low,  log  hut,  which  graced  the  south  bank 
of  the  roaring  stream. 

"Do  you  like  it  here?"  I  asked. 

"You  bet,  young  man." 

"  Where' d  you  come  from?" 

"Texas.  I  rounded  up  th'  last  herd  of  buffaler  in 
that  ar  country." 

"You're  pretty  far  away  from  friends,  out  here," 
I  suggested.  "Must  be  lonely,  eh?" 

"Not  a  bit  uv  it.  Young  man,  I  settled  right  here 
to  git  away  from  cities  an'  th'  bloomin'  railroad." 

And,  as  I  thought  it  over,  I  saw  that  he  was  right. 
He  'had  come  to  a  place  where  the  antelope  grazed 
upon  the  plain;  where  the  elk  fed  upon  the  long  bunch- 
grass  in  winter,  within  a  stone's  throw  of  his  door; 
where,  according  to  his  own  words,  two  moose  were 
accustomed  to  browse  during  the  cold  of  February 

38 


DANIEL    BOONE 


and  March;  and  where  the  coyote  and  timber  wolf  still 
held  their  ground  untrapped  and  unabashed.  His 
was  the  true  spirit  of  the  pioneer.  He  wished  to  be 
in  the  wilderness,  and  away  from  "the  civilization  and 
refinement  of  the  province." 

Such  was  the  spirit  that  animated  Daniel  Boone; 
woodsman,  pathfinder,  builder  of  frontier  settlements, 
Indian  fighter,  and  fearless  explorer.  Such  was  the 
spirit  which  drove  him  across  the  trackless  Blue 
Ridge  mountains,  from  North  Carolina  into  Kentucky; 
and  made  him  blaze  a  way  for  hardy  families  of  pio- 
neers, who  followed  in  the  wake  of  the  first  white  man 
who  penetrated  the  unknown  West.  Daniel  Boone, 
like  the  grizzled  buffalo  hunter  of  Moener's  Ferry, 
wanted  to  "git  away  from  th'  railroad."  His  restless 
spirit  loved  the  solitude  of  the  vast,  unpeopled  forest; 
his  eye  delighted  in  the  beauties  of  nature;  his  ejr  was 
charmed  by  the  rush  of  crystal  streams  and  the  songs 
of  woodland  birds;  his  whole  being  revelled  hi  the  in- 
dependent existence  of  the  trapper  and  adventurous 
pioneer. 

Of  old  English  stock,  Daniel  Boone  was  the  eldest 
of  seven  children  born  to  a  Pennsylvania  farmer,  Squire 
Boone,  who  settled  in  what  is  now  Berks  County, 
Pennsylvania.  His  father  had  here  founded  a  small 
settlement,  and  called  it  Exeter  —  after  his  birth- 
place in  England;  and  at  this  quiet  spot  the  future 
pioneer  grew  up  on  the  farm.  Philadelphia  was  sixty 
miles  off,  with  about  ten  thousand  inhabitants;  but, 
even  then,  Exeter  was  an  isolated  little  settlement, 
and  practically  in  the  wilderness.  Young  Daniel 


40  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

early  learned  to  use  the  rifle,  and,  upon  more  than  one 
occasion,  had  use  for  the  expert  knowledge  which  he 
obtained  by  firing  at  squirrels  and  other  small  game 
near  the  homestead. 

One  day,  when  out  squirrel  shooting  with  some 
companions  of  his  own  age  (about  eleven  years),  he 
penetrated  a  deep  woodland,  where  a  panther  was 
startled  from  a  rock  upon  which  it  was  dozing  in  the 
sun.  Young  Boone's  companions  fled,  overawed  by 
the  snarls  of  the  beast.  But,  as  one  who  has  hunted 
well  knows,  the  panther  (the  mountain  lion  of  the 
Rocky  Mountains)  is  a  great  coward,  and  will  not  at- 
tack a  person  unless  very  hungry,  in  midwinter.  Boone 
was  unabashed  by  the  size  and  noises  of  the  tawny 
beast;  and,  creeping  to  within  range,  drew  a  bead  upon 
the  animal  as  it  clung  to  the  branch  of  a  low  tree.  He 
fired.  The  animal  dropped  to  the  earth.  With  a 
loud  shout,  the  young  huntsman  called  to  his  com- 
panions; and,  when  they  came  leaping  to  his  side,  it 
was  found  that  the  bullet  from  his  small  flintlock 
squirrel  rifle  had  penetrated  the  heart  of  the  fierce- 
looking  beast.  With  shouts  of  joy,  the  boys  swung 
the  carcass  upon  a  pole,  and  carried  it  in  triumph  to 
Exeter,  where  young  Boone's  valor  and  courage  were 
much  praised  by  the  older  people  of  this  small  com- 
munity. He  was  thus  inspired  to  do  loftier  deeds. 

For  several  years  he  continued  his  life  of  hunting 
and  trapping,  even  building  a  log  hut  in  the  dense  forest 
for  his  own  use.  He  had  some  schooling,  but  practi- 
cally devoted  himself  to  outdoor  pursuits;  until  in  1850 
or  '51,  Squire  Boone,  his  father,  moved  from  Exeter  to 


DANIEL   BOONE,    THE   PIONEER   41 

a  spot  on  the  Yadkin  River,  North  Carolina,  in  what 
is  now  Wilkes  County.  History  records  little  of  Boone's 
life  at  this  period.  It  is  known  that,  when  he  reached 
his  majority,  he  married  Rebecca  Bryan,  and  had  nine 
children, —  showing  that  he  had  more  family  cares 
than  most.  It  is  not  known  what  part  he  took  in  the 
French  and  Indian  War,  or  in  the  great  warfare  with 
the  Cherokees,  which  brought  massacre  and  ruin  into 
the  Carolinas;  but  no  doubt  he  developed  those  quali- 
ties of  energy  and  resolution  which  only  needed  the 
opportunity  to  show  themselves.  His  was  a  life  of 
hunting,  trapping,  and  cultivating  a  small  garden 
patch. 

The  Cherokees  were  defeated  and  were  driven  west- 
ward over  the  undulating  hillocks  of  the  Blue  Ridge. 
Peace  reigned  in  the  Carolinas;  but  to  the  eager  ears  of 
Boone  came  stories  of  a  vast  and  unpeopled  region  west 
of  the  mountains, —  a  region  filled  with  elk,  bear,  wolves, 
antelope,  and  bison.  It  was,  said  some,  "a  dark  and 
bloody  ground,"  called  Kaintuckee  by  the  red  men, 
who  had  agreed  among  themselves  that  it  should  be 
a  neutral  territory;  lived  upon  by  no  particular  tribe 
or  tribes,  and  used  only  as  a  place  for  hunting  the  vast 
herds  of  game  which  here  abounded.  Occasionally 
Boone  would  meet  with  a  traveller  who  had  wandered 
into  this  untrodden  country,  and  had  returned  rich 
with  skins  of  the  bison  and  the  beaver.  He  would 
pour  tales  of  wonder  and  amazement  into  the  ready 
ears  of  the  expectant  frontiersman;  until,  no  longer 
able  to  curb  his  restless  desire  to  go  into  the  unknown 
land,  Boone  left  his  wife  and  children,  in  order  to  plunge 


42  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

into  the  wilderness.  He  says  in  his  autobiography: 
"It  was  on  the  first  of  May,  in  the  year  1769,  that  I 
resigned  my  domestic  happiness  for  a  time,  and  left 
my  peaceable  habitation  on  the  Yadkin  River,  in  North 
Carolina,  to  wander  through  the  wilderness  of  America, 
in  quest  of  the  country  of  Kentucky,  in  company  with 
John  Finley,  John  Stuart,  Joseph  Holden,  James  Monay, 
and  William  Cool."  The  spirit  of  adventure  out- 
weighed the  spirit  of  domesticity,  which  should  have 
kept  him  with  his  family. 

Although  Boone  states  that  in  1769  he  first  plunged 
into  the  wilderness,  upon  a  large  beech  tree  that  stands 
within  sight  of  the  present  stage  road  between  Jories- 
boro'  and  Blountsville,  Tennessee,  could  be  seen '  (up 
to  a  few  years  ago)  the  following  inscription,  carved 
by  the  pioneer: 

D.  Boone 

CillED  A.  BAR  On 

in  ThE  Tree 

yEAR  1760 

Hence  it  is  evident  that  when  he  dictated  his  auto- 
biography he  had  forgotten  that  it  was  as  early  as 
1760  that  he  and  his  buckskin-clad  companions  pene- 
trated the  vast  wilderness  of  the  dark  and  bloody  ground. 
But  he  was  an  old  man  when  he  spoke  of  his  early 
life, —  and  age  forgets. 

Guided  by  Finley,  who  had  made  more  than  one 
trip  into  the  West,  Boone  and  his  companions  trudged 
onward  through  dense  coverts,  over  rocky  boulders, 
by  whose  side  rushed  clear  mountain  brooks,  across 


DANIEL   BOONE,   THE   PIONEER   43 

giant  hills  wooded  heavily  with  the  spruce,  oak,  and 
pine.  Game  was  abundant,  and  they  did  not  lack 
for  food.  Keeping  a  close  lookout  for  Indian  signs,  the 
four  explorers  kept  bravely  on,  fording  creeks  and 
building  rafts  in  order  to  cross  the  larger  streams; 
until,  at  last,  they  clambered  upon  a  jutting  peak  on 
the  Cumberland  range,  and  upon  the  enraptured  eyes 
of  Boone  burst  the  first  view  of  Kentucky.  There, 
far  below,  shimmering  in  the  sunlight,  flowed  the  head- 
waters of  the  Kentucky  River,  through  vast  groves 
of  trees,  and  by  fertile  valleys,  on  which  grazed  great 
hejds  of  buffalo  and  of  deer.  Boone's  eyes  drank  in 
tlie  scene  of  peace  and  beauty,  and  he  sank  to  the  earth, 
raying,  "  Boys!  This  is  Cod's  country.  It  is  the 
finest  and  most  magnificent  scene  that  my  eyes  ever 
fell  upon.  I  feel  that  here  will  be  the  future  home  of 
a  great  and  prosperous  people."  Far  off  rang  the  call 
of  a  cardinal  bird;  a  buzzard  soared  in  the  distant  blue 
ether;  and,  enraptured  by  the  scene  of  peace  and  beauty, 
his  companions  stared  before  them,  silent  and  motion- 
less. 

Finally  the  hunters  crept  in  single  file  down  into 
the  valley;  and,  finding  a  suitable  spot,  prepared  a 
rude  log  hut,  about  ten  feet  by  fifteen,  with  a  roof  of 
bark  from  the  linden  tree.  Here  they  lived  and  hunted, 
undisturbed  and  unattacked  by  roving  bands  of  Chero- 
kees  or  Shawnees,  until  after  Christmas.  They  were 
on  neutral  ground.  Two  years  previous  the  Iroquois 
had  ceded  to  Great  Britain  all  their  claims  to 
the  land  lying  south  of  the  Ohio  River;  so  Boone 
and  his  companions  were  upon  soil  which  no  Indian 


44  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

tribe  laid  claim  to.  The  red  men  had  named  it  Kain- 
tuckee,  because  this  means  "at  the  head  of  a  river"; 
and  this  magnificent  game  land  was  between  the  head- 
waters of  the  Big  Sandy  and  of  the  Tennessee,  which 
rippled  away  to  the  southwest  in  silent  splendor. 

As  spring  came,  Boone  and  Stuart  grew  anxious 
to  see  what  lay  beyond  them;  and,  leaving  their  com- 
panions, pushed  towards  the  northwest,  in  order  to 
explore  the  district  lying  near  the  Ohio  River.  They 
journeyed  onward  for  several  days  until  they  reached 
the  banks  of  the  Kentucky  River,  where  —  in  fancied 
seclusion  —  they  built  a  small  bark  lean-to  j 
down  to  rest.  But,  just  as  night  was  falling;  and 
they  lay  dozing  upon  their  bed  of  boughs,*tsiuk 
shadowy  forms  bounded  from  the  forest;  their  guns 
were  snatched  away;  and,  rousing  themselves,  they 
found  themselves  helpless  in  the  hands  of  a  dozen  red- 
skinned  warriors.  They  had  been  completely  sur- 
prised, for  in  all  their  wanderings  they  had  seen  no 
signs  of  Indians. 

Boone  purposely  smiled,  laughed,  and  appeared 
to  be  overjoyed  to  be  among  his  red-skinned  brothers. 
He  had  heard  that  this  was  the  only  way  to  act  in  order 
to  get  on  with  the  ferocious  red  men;  for  nothing  wins 
the  good  opinion  of  an  Indian  so  much  as  bravery,  just 
as  cowardice  is  certain  to  arouse  his  hatred  of  a  cap- 
tive. Crafty  Boone  now  awakened  the  respect  of  his 
captors.  They  relaxed  their  vigilance  over  him,  and 
soon  allowed  him  to  take  part  in  their  sports  and  hunt- 
ing expeditions;  and  although  he  meditated  escape, 
he  gave  no  signs  of  it  to  the  watchful  braves. 


DANIEL   BOONE,    THE    PIONEER   45 

One  day  Stuart  and  Boone  were  taken  to  a  dense 
canebrake,  and  were  made  to  assist  in  the  building  of 
an  encampment.  Here  they  lay  down  to  rest  in  a 
circle  of  Indians;  but  at  about  one  in  the  morning 
Stuart  was  aroused  by  a  tugging  at  his  arm. 

"Hist!  Hist!"  came  the  well-known  voice  of 
Boone.  "Awake,  and  steal  sharply  off.  The  Indians 
are  all  asleep,  and  you  must  step  lightly,  or  you  will 
awaken  them.  Then  I  will  not  answer  for  our  lives." 

"All  right,"  Stuart  replied.  "Count  upon  me  for 
silence." 

The  two  fugitives  now  stepped  gingerly  over  the 
prostrate  forms  of  their  captors;  and,  turning  towards 
their  old  camping-ground  where  they  had  left  their 
companions  months  before,  they  stumbled  off  in  the 
darkness.  They  travelled  rapidly  that  night  and 
upon  the  following  day.  In  several  days  they  felt 
that  they  were  safely  beyond  pursuit,  and  soon  they 
came  to  the  neighborhood  of  their  first  camp  in  the 
new  country.  With  eager  eyes  they  hastened  onward, 
already  smiling  with  the  thought  of  the  joyous  wel- 
come which  they  would  receive;  and  suddenly  they 
burst  into  the  clearing  where  had  stood  their  former 
home.  All  was  silence.  The  cabin  was  gone  and  a 
few  logs  smouldered  where  once  had  stood  their  habi- 
tation. Their  companions  had  vanished. 

Nor  did  they  ever  view  them  again.  These  pioneers, 
in  fact,  disappeared,  and  it  has  never  been  known 
whether  they  were  killed  by  skulking  red  men,  or  wan- 
dered to  some  other  section  of  country.  Owing  to  the 
few  persons  at  this  time  in  the  western  world,  it  is  al- 


46  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

most  certain  that  they  would  have  been  heard  of  had 
this  been  the  case;  so  it  is  probable  that  the  Indians 
made  away  with  them.  Had  they  been  massacred, 
there  is  no  doubt  that  this  would  have  finally  reached 
the  ears  of  some  white  settlers,  as  all  such  atrocities 
eventually  did.  At  any  rate,  the  fate  of  these  four 
men  remains  to  this  day  a  mystery  of  Kentucky, —  that 
land  of  many  mysteries. 

But  Boone  and  Stuart  were  not  overawed  by  the 
calamity.  Instead,  they  set  to  work  to  build  another 
house  with  the  two  hatchets  which  they  carried  with 
them.  In  this  hut  they  lived  until  February,  subsist- 
ing upon  the  game  which  they  killed.  Then  one  day, 
as  they  were  scouring  the  woods  for  game,  they  saw 
two  figures  approaching. 

"Indians!"  whispered  Stuart,  dropping  to  one 
knee.  "No,  white  men/'  answered  Boone,  with  his 
finger  upon  the  trigger  of  his  rifle.  "It  looks  exactly 
like  my  younger  brother,  Squire." 

And  so  it  was.  Anxious  about  the  whereabouts 
of  the  wandering  huntsman,  Squire  had  come  to  look 
for  him,  and  had  brought  much  needed  supplies  of 
powder  and  salt.  "My  wife  and  children?"  asked 
Daniel.  "How  are  they?" 

"Prospering,"  answered  Squire. 

"  Then  we  will  stay  the  winter  here,  and  get  enough 
furs  to  bring  much  money  to  my  people,"  said  Daniel, 
smiling.  And  so  they  remained  in  Kentucky. 

It  was  to  be  a  winter  of  death.  They  amassed  a 
great  store  of  peltries;  but  while  hunting  one  day 
Daniel  and  Stuart  were  surprised  by  Indians.  They 


DANIEL   BOONE,    THE   PIONEER   47 

shot  Stuart  and  killed  him  instantly,  but  Boone  ran 
through  the  thicket  with  tremendous  strides.  Jump- 
ing over  fallen  trees  and  dashing  through  the  brush, 
he  soon  eluded  the  red  men,  and  returned  to  the  camp, 
absolutely  exhausted.  Brooding  over  the  fate  of  Stuart 
seemed  to  upset  the  mind  of  Squire's  companion,  for 
he  went  away  from  the  camp  early  the  next  morning 
and  was  never  afterwards  seen.  Some  months  later 
his  skeleton  was  found  in  a  swamp  a  few  miles  from 
the  camp;  so  it  was  evident  that  the  poor  fellow  had 
wandered  there  to  die,  reflecting,  with  unbalanced 
mind,  upon  the  perils  that  surrounded  him. 

When  spring  came  the  ammunition  was  so  low 
that  Squire  bade  Daniel  good-bye  on  May  1st,  1761, 
and  set  out  to  traverse  the  five  hundred  miles  that  lay 
between  them  and  the  settlements  in  North  Carolina. 
The  first  pioneer  of  Kentucky  was  thus  left  absolutely 
alone,  "without  salt,  bread,  sugar;  without  the  society 
of  a  fellow  creature;  without  the  companionship  of  a 
horse,  or  even  a  dog, —  often  the  affectionate  com- 
panion of  a  lone  hunter."  He  was  so  lonely  that  he 
made  a  journey  of  exploration  in  the  country  lying 
between  the  Kentucky  and  the  Green  rivers.  After 
a  month  he  returned,  only  to  find  that  the  cabin  and 
its  contents  had  been  burned  by  some  roving  redskins. 
It  was  thus  fortunate  that  he  had  wandered  away,  for 
had  he  remained  he  would  either  have  perished  or 
been  taken  prisoner. 

On  the  27th  of  July  —  a  wonderfully  beautiful 
month  in  Kentucky  —  Squire  returned  with  a  large 
supply  of  ammunition  and  two  horses,  and  with  the  pleas- 


48  FAMOUS    SCOUTS 

ing  intelligence  that  Daniel's  family  was  in  good  health 
and  easy  circumstances.  These  horses  were  probably 
the  first  animals  ever  ridden  by  a  white  man  in  Ken- 
tucky. They  did  good  service  for  the  two  trappers, 
who  moved  their  habitation  to  the  Kentucky  River, 
in  an  excellent  country  for  game.  No  Indians  molested 
them;  so  in  the  spring  they  returned  to  the  Boone  home- 
stead on  the  Yadkin  River,  North  Carolina,  where 
their  furs  and  peltries  brought  excellent  prices.  Daniel 
Boone  had  been  absent  for  two  years.  All  of  his  white 
companions,  save  one,  had  been  killed  by  the  redskins. 
But  instead  of  being  depressed  by  this  he  was  more 
anxious  than  ever  for  further  adventure.  He  deter- 
mined to  move  his  entire  family  into  Kentucky. 

The  first  pioneers  of  America  were  brave  men, — 
but  what  of  their  wives?  A  woman  naturally  leans 
towards  comfort  and  civilized  refinement;  and  it  was 
not  strange  that  Boone  had  to  argue  long  and  arduously 
with  his  wife  before  she  would  consent  to  plunge  into 
a  land  of  unknown  dangers.  Before  her  were  intense 
hardships,  hostile  Indians,  warfare,  and  suffering. 
Yet,  with  true  heroism,  she  consented  to  join  her  for- 
tunes with  those  of  her  intrepid  husband.  Five 
other  families,  with  pack-horses  and  three  milch  cows, 
decided  to  link  their  existence  with  the  explorers.  So, 
on  September  25th,  1773,  the  first  band  of  English- 
speaking  pioneers  turned  their  faces  towards  "the 
dark  and  bloody  ground." 

Cumberland  Gap  is  a  magnificent  thoroughfare 
through  the  wooded  Blue  Ridge.  As  the  little  band 
of  first  settlers  pushed  a  cautious  way  through  the 


DANIEL   BOONE,    THE   PIONEER   49 

narrow  defile  which  led  into  Kentucky,  suddenly  a 
wild  war-whoop  sounded  from  either  side  of  the  glen. 
Shots  sounded  in  the  forest  gloom;  and  as  the  seven 
young  men  who  brought  up  the  rear  turned  to  fight, 
the  discordant  yelping  showed  that  fully  a  hundred 
hostile  Cherokees  or  Shawnees  were  lying  in  ambush. 
So  accurate  was  their  fire  that  six  young  frontiersmen 
were  soon  dying  upon  the  field  of  battle.  A  desperate 
fight  now  commenced.  The  screams  of  the  women 
and  children  were  drowned  by  the  wild  war-whoops 
of  the  redskins  and  rattle  of  the  flintlocks.  The  men 
crouched  low  and  fired  only  when  they  saw  the  head 
and  face  of  a  painted  warrior.  They  were  all  good 
shots,  for  they  had  to  be.  Their  accurate  fire  soon 
began  to  tell.  The  Indians  grew  less  bold.  After  fif- 
teen minutes  of  furious  yelping,  they  withdrew,  carry- 
ing with  them  the  three  milch  cows,  to  be  butchered 
for  a  woodland  revel.  Daniel  Boone's  oldest  son 
James  was  among  the  dead;  but  the  pioneer  did  not 
speak  of  the  intense  grief  which  his  loss  undoubtedly 
caused  him. 

The  Indian  attack  had  been  so  fierce  that  the  pio- 
neers determined  to  withdraw  to  the  Clinch  River,  in 
Virginia,  where  a  settlement  had  been  started  two 
years  earlier.  But  Boone  soon  made  a  trip  into  Ken- 
tucky, in  order  to  rescue  some  surveyors  who  were 
supposed  to  be  sore  pressed  by  an  Indian  war-party. 
He  found  them  without  much  difficulty,  and  brought 
them  back  to  Virginia,  covering  eight  hundred  miles 
on  foot  in  sixty-two  days. 

Governor  Dunmore,  the  English  ruler  of  Virginia, 


50  FAMOUS    SCOUTS 

was  now  called  upon  to  punish  the  Shawnees,  who 
were  rendering  life  most  insecure  upon  the  border. 
In  "  Famous  Indian  Chiefs  "  I  have  fully  described 
the  Battle  of  Point  Pleasant  between  the  Indians, 
under  Cornstalk  and  Logan,  and  the  English  and  Ameri- 
cans. Booiie  was  not  in  the  fight,  but  commanded 
a  fortification  upon  the  border.  He  did  good  work, 
and  always  kept  his  British  commission  of  captain  in 
the  royal  service;  for,  when  captured  by  the  Indians  — 
who  were  British  allies  —  it  frequently  saved  his  life. 
His  wits  were  sharpened  by  wilderness  life,  and  his 
cunning  and  plausible  speech  often  saved  him  from 
death. 

The  Transylvania  Company  now  employed  Boone 
to  guide  a  party  of  surveyors,  who  were  sent  to  open 
a  road  to  the  Kentucky  River,  and  to  establish  a  sta- 
tion at  the  mouth  of  Otter  Creek  —  a  branch  of  that 
stream.  A  small  company  of  brave,  hardy,  and  ad- 
venturous men  was  soon  collected;  and,  under  the 
leadership  of  Boone,  began  a  march  into  the  land  of 
which  Boone  had  often  spoken  with  enthusiasm,  prais- 
ing its  rich  plains  and  game-filled  forests.  They  cut 
a  path  through  the  mountains  and  valleys,  which  to- 
day is  a  great  highway  known  as  the  "Wilderness 
Road."  Of  this  expedition  he  himself  has  written: 

"We  proceeded  with  all  possible  expedition  until 
we  came  within  fifteen  miles  of  where  Boonesborough 
now  stands,  when  we  were  fired  upon  by  a  party  of 
Indians,  that  killed  two  and  wounded  two  more  of  our 
number;  yet,  although  surprised  and  taken  at  a  dis- 
advantage, we  stood  our  ground.  This  was  on  March 


DANIEL   BOONE,    THE    PIONEER    51 

20th,  1775.  Throe  days  after,  we  were  fired  upon 
again,  and  had  two  men  killed  and  three  wounded. 
Afterward  we  proceeded  on  to  Kentucky  River  with- 
out opposition;  and,  on  the  first  day  of  April,  began 
to  erect  the  fort  of  Boonesborough,  at  a  salt  lick  about 
sixty  yards  from  the  river,  on  the  south  side. 

"On  the  fourth  day  the  Indians  killed  one  of  our 
men.  We  were  busily  employed  in  building  this  fort 
until  the  fourteenth  day  of  June  following,  without 
any  further  opposition  from  the  redskins;  and,  having 
finished  the  works,  I  returned  to  my  family  on  the 
Clinch. 

"In  a  short  time  I  proceeded  to  move  my  family 
from  Clinch  to  this  garrison,  where  we  arrived  safe, 
without  any  other  difficulties  than  such  as  are  com- 
mon to  this  passage;  my  wife  and  daughter  being  the 
first  white  women  that  ever  stood  on  the  banks  of 
Kentucky  River." 

The  fort  was  excellently  planned,  and  was  to  repel 
many  an  attack.  Let  us  see  how  this  —  the  first 
structure  of  any  size  in  Kentucky  — was  fashioned. 
The  length  was  about  two  hundred  and  sixty  feet,  a 
bit  shorter  than  the  space  allotted  for  the  one  hundred 
yards  dash  in  athletic  meets.  The  breadth  was  about 
one  hundred  and  fifty  feet.  Every  twenty  feet  was 
a  projecting  cabin  with  loopholes  in  the  sides.  One 
comer  was  quite  near  the  river,  and  the  other  near  a 
hillside.  Heavy  timber  gates  were  in  the  front  and 
rear.  The  walls  were  about  twelve  feet  high,  and  of 
timber,  with  sharp  ends  upwards  —  so  it  would  be 
difficult  for  a  redskin  to  climb  over  it.  Hardly  a  nail 


52  FAMOUS    SCOUTS 

was  used  in  constructing  this  formidable  obstacle  to 
Indian  attack;  and,  in  honor  of  hardy  Daniel  Boone, 
it  was  called  Boonesborough.  A  representative  govern- 
ment was  here  established,  and  Daniel  Boone  was  one 
of  the  legislators.  He  orginated  two  bills:  one  to  im- 
prove the  breed  of  horses,  and  the  other  to  preserve 
the  game.  Both  were  passed  unanimously.  Hats 
off  to  the  first  true  sportsman  of  "Old  Kentucky"! 

And  now  families  of  whites  commenced  to  flock 
into  the  promised  land;  the  plough  and  axe  soon  began 
to  turn  the  wilderness  into  a  series  of  farms;  and  as 
the  Indians  viewed  the  smoke  from  the  settlers'  cabins, 
they  vowed  revenge  upon  those  of  the  fair-skinned 
race  who  were  ruining  their  vast  hunting-ground. 
While  Boonesborough  was  attracting  hardy  pioneers 
from  the  East,  the  stirring  news  of  the  Battle  of  Lex- 
ington, Massachusetts,  was  first  received  in  the  ter- 
ritory of  Kentucky  by  a  party  of  hunters  camped  in 
a  beautiful  section  of  this  virgin  soil,  in  what  is  now 
Fayette  County,  about  thirty  miles  from  Boones- 
borough. 

"Hurrah  for  the  brave  Continentals  who  stemmed 
the  British  advance!"  cried  a  stout  pioneer.  "We 
will  call  this  settlement  Lexington,  in  honor  of  the 
first  battle-field  of  American  independence."  And 
thus  the  far-famed  metropolis  of  the  fairest  section  of 
all  Kentucky,  the  celebrated  Blue-grass  region,  received 
its  name.  It  is  known  as  "God's  Country,"  and  has 
the  most  bounteous  crops,  the  finest  thoroughbred 
horses,  and  the  loveliest  women,  in  all  America. 

The  redskins  twice  attacked  the  stockade  at  Boones- 


DANIEL   BOONE,    THE   PIONEER   53 

borough,  but  were  driven  off  with  no  loss  to  the  white 
settlers.  Ground  was  tilled  for  corn  and  wheat,  and 
crops  were  raised  without  much  difficulty.  But,  as 
hostilities  between  Great  Britain  and  the  American 
Colonies  were  under  way,  the  British  secured  the  services 
of  several  tribes  of  Indians,  which  led  to  a  regular 
Indian  war;  and  Boonesborough  was  singled  out  as  a 
stockade  which  must  be  captured.  Three  girls  who 
were  paddling  on  the  river,  near  the  fort,  were  cap- 
tured one  day  by  the  redskins;  but  a  vigorous  pursuit, 
led  by  Daniel  Boone  in  person,  secured  their  recapture. 
This  spread  great  alarm  among  the  settlers.  Many 
returned  to  their  old  homes  in  the  East.  Forty-five 
additional  pioneers,  however,  strengthened  the  force 
at  Boonesborough,  and  caused  much  rejoicing  among 
the  garrison,  who  lived  in  hourly  dread  of  an  attack 
from  the  red  men. 

And  it  came.  One  warm  evening  in  July  over 
two  hundred  Cherokees  and  renegade  Indians  were 
seen  in  the  clearing  near  the  fort.  The  settlers  re- 
treated inside  and  prepared  for  a  stout  resistance, 
while  Daniel  Boone,  Simon  Kenton,  John  Floyd,  and 
the  four  McAfee  brothers  went  among  them,  telling 
the  men  to  keep  cool  and  make  every  shot  count,  and 
setting  the  women  and  children  at  work  moulding  bul- 
lets. But  the  Indians  apparently  did  not  want  a  big 
fight,  and  sat  down  to  starve  out  the  garrison. 

"I  see  what  they're  after,"  said  Boone.  "We'll 
march  out  and  draw  their  fire;  for,  of  course,  they  can 
starve  us  out  if  they  so  wish." 

So  several  men  sallied  forth,  and  fired  at  the  red 


54  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

men  at  close  range.  The  Indians  replied,  and,  when 
things  got  too  hot,  the  pioneers  retreated.  Two  days 
and  nights  were  spent  in  thus  challenging  the  men  of 
the  woods  to  battle;  until,  goaded  on  to  anger,  the 
redskins  opened  the  attack  in  earnest.  With  a  wild 
yell  they  rushed  towards  the  walls  of  the  stockade, 
as  if  about  to  scale  them;  but,  after  seven  of  their  war- 
riors had  dropped  before  the  careful  aim  of  the  pioneers, 
and  about  thirty  had  been  badly  wounded,  they  with- 
drew. 

"The  savages,"  says  Boone,  "had  now  learned 
by  experience  the  superiority  of  the  'Long  Knife/  as 
they  called  the  Virginian,  as  we  outgeneralled  them 
in  every  battle.  Our  affairs  began  to  wear  a  new  aspect, 
and  the  enemy,  not  daring  to  venture  an  open  war, 
practiced  secret  mischief." 

Unawed  by  the  nearness  of  the  red  men,  Boone  and 
thirty  others  went  upon  an  expedition  to  the  Lower 
Blue  Licks,  on  Licking  River,  in  the  winter  of  1777-78, 
in  order  to  get  salt  for  the  pioneers.  Boone  was  cap- 
tain, hunter  and  scout;  but  his  chief  duty  was  to  sup- 
ply meat  for  the  men,  and  to  guard  against  surprise. 
Everything  went  well  for  a  time,  and  Boone  looked 
forward  to  a  speedy  return. 

On  February  7th,  Boone  was  chasing  a  deer,  some 
distance  from  the  encampment,  when  a  wild  war- 
whoop  sounded  from  the  sides  of  a  ravine  in  which  he 
found  himself,  and  he  was  suddenly  surrounded  by  a 
large  war-party  of  red  men.  He  gave  up  without  a 
murmur;  but  as  he  saw  that  this  big  war-party  would 
make  short  work  of  the  thirty  men  making  salt,  he 


determined  to  secure  their  capitulation,  and  save  them 
from  slaughter.  So  he  laughed,  even  sang,  and  ap- 
peared to  be  delighted  with  his  position.  The  Indians 
were  much  pleased.  "Ugh!  Ugh!"  said  they,  "he 
make  a  good  Indian.  He  no  coward." 

"If  I  secure  the  surrender  of  my  friends  nearby," 
said  Daniel,  the  diplomat,  "will  you  see  that  they  are 
honorably  treated?" 

"Ugh!  Ugh!"  said  the  red  men,  "if  they  no  fight 
and  kill.  We  will  take  them  to  the  Great  White  Father 
(British  Commander)  at  Chillicothe." 

"  Let  me  advance,  then,  and  see  them,"  urged  Boone, 
"and  they  they  will  give  up  without  firing  a  rifle." 

The  Indians  consented:  and,  after  travelling  through 
the  forest,  Boone  persuaded  his  own  party  to  give 
in  without  a  battle.  This  was  admirable  strategy. 
It  not  only  saved  his  fellow-pioneers  from  massacre, 
but  prevented  an  attack  upon  Boonesborough.  The 
prisoners  were  marched  to  Chillicothe,  on  the  Little 
Miami  River,  and  were  there  paroled  by  the  British; 
but  Boone  was  claimed  by  Black  Fish  —  head  chief 
of  the  Shawnees  —  who  wanted  him  as  his  personal 
prisoner,  to  take  the  place  of  a  favorite  son  who  had 
fallen  in  battle  with  the  white  settlers.  "It  will  be 
months  before  I  again  see  my  wife  and  children,"  said 
he  to  himself;  "but  I  shall  put  on  a  good  countenance, 
make  friends  of  my  captors,  and,  when  the  time  is 
ripe,  I  will  escape  to  Boonesborough."  This  he  did; 
and  soon  he  was  most  popular  with  the  Shawnees, 
who  much  admired  his  skill  with  the  rifle. 

Boone  was  soon  allowed  to  go  into  the  woods  alone; 


56  FAMOUS    SCOUTS 

but  his  powder  and  bullets  were  measured  out  to  him, 
and  he  had  to  bring  back  as  much  game  as  his  ammuni- 
tion warranted.  Again  he  used  strategy.  By  using 
small  charges  of  powder,  and  by  cutting  balls  in  half, 
he  managed  to  save  a  few  charges  of  powder  and  ball, 
for  use  in  case  he  should  find  an  opportunity  to  make 
a  break  for  it  to  the  white  settlements. 

In  the  June  following  his  capture,  Boone  returned 
from  hunting  and  found  old  Black  Fish  with  his  face 
painted  vermillion.  Nearly  five  hundred  Shawnees 
were  at  Chillicothe,  in  war  paint  and  with  many 
weapons. 

"  How  is  this?"  asked  he,  with  some  distress.  "  What 
are  my  red  brothers  intending  to  do?" 

"Ugh!  We  will  soon  burn  the  log  houses  of  our 
white  enemies  to  the  ground,"  said  a  brave.  "Ugh! 
We  will  chop  them  like  a  tree.  Ugh!  Ugh!" 

Boone  walked  away.  "I  must  escape  to-night," 
said  he,  "  and  warn  the  people  of  Boonesborough.  Else 
all  will  perish.  It  is  now,  or  never." 

That  night  he  stuffed  some  long  strips  of  jerked 
venison  into  his  hunting  shirt.  Early  the  next  morn- 
ing he  left  the  Indian  village,  with  his  rifle  upon  his 
shoulder,  as  if  he  were  going  into  the  woods  for  his 
customary  hunt.  He  wandered  about  carelessly  for 
two  hours,  as  if  looking  for  game,  arid  then  suddenly 
turned  towards  Boonesborough.  The  distance  was 
fully  one  hundred  and  sixty  miles,  but  he  struck  out 
at  a  long  walk,  and  had  soon  traversed  a  great  strip 
of  country. 

For   five   days   the   great-hearted   pioneer   pushed 


DANIEL   BOONE,    THE   PIONEER   57 

through  the  wilderness.  One  regular  meal  sustained 
him,  and  that  from  a  turkey  which  he  shot  after  crossing 
the  Ohio  River  in  an  old  canoe  that  had  floated  into 
the  brush  and  lodged.  There  was  a  hole  in  one  end  of 
it,  but  this  he  stopped  with  leaves,  twigs  and  mud, 
and  thus  paddled  safely  to  the  Kentucky  shore.  Luck 
was  with  him;  for  he  was  a  poor  swimmer,  and,  know- 
ing that  he  would  be  followed,  feared  capture  in  the 
water.  Finally  the  gaunt  and  half-exhausted  woods- 
man staggered  into  Boonesborough,  where  he  was 
received  with  wild  rejoicings,  for  his  friends  never 
again  expected  to  see  him  alive.  His  wife,  thinking 
that  the  Shawnees  had  murdered  him,  had  gone  with 
some  of  her  children  to  her  father's  home  in  North 
Carolina,  on  pack-horses.  Boone's  grief  at  not  seeing 
her  was  pathetic. 

"Now,  my  men,"  said  he,  after  he  had  looked 
around  him,  ''you  must  quickly  repair  the  walls  of  this 
fort,  for  I  see  that  in  the  time  that  I  have  been  away 
from  here  they  have  fallen  into  great  neglect.  A  large 
force  of  redskins  will  soon  be  upon  us.  We  must  fight, 
and  we  must  fight  like  Trojans." 

Acting  upon  his  sensible  advice,  the  fort  was  soon 
put  into  a  good  condition  for  defense.  But  no  red 
men  appeared,  although  Boone  and  his  companions 
expected  an  attack  at  any  moment.  After  a  month 
of  quiet,  the  pioneer  leader  determined  to  make  a  foray 
with  a  view  to  feeling  the  strength  and  position  of  the 
enemy;  so,  with  thirty  well-armed  men,  he  marched 
to  the  banks  of  the  Scioto  River,  where  he  fell  upon 
a  camp  of  fifty  Shawnees.  The  Americans  immedi- 


58  FAMOUS    SCOUTS 

ately  attacked.  The  redskins  fled,  leaving  two  dead, 
and  one  captive, —  from  whom  Boone  learned  that 
this  body  was  a  detachment  from  a  large  party  under 
Black  Fish  and  eight  Canadian  officers,  en  route  to  at- 
tack Boonesborough. 

"We  must  go  back  at  once,"  shouted  Boone  to 
his  men.  "We  must  strengthen  our  defenses,  and 
make  ready  for  this  terrific  attack  that  is  to  come. 
Courage  will  beat  them,  I  feel  sure,  in  spite  of  our  lack 
of  numbers." 

The  Indian  party  of  attackers  was  under  Captain 
De  Quindre,  acting  under  orders  from  General  Hamilton, 
British  Governor  of  the  Northwest;  and  on  the  eighth 
of  July  it  appeared  before  Boonesborough,  carrying 
aloft  both  the  French  and  the  English  standards.  A 
small  body,  under  the  British  flag,  advanced  to  the 
gates  and  halted,  while  an  officer  (De  Quindre  himself) 
called  out: 

"I  demand  the  immediate  surrender  of  the  garrison; 
and  if  you  do  not  surrender  I  will  capture  the  fort, 
and  massacre  all  of  the  inhabitants  of  this  place." 

"Wait  until  I  consult  my  companions,"  cried  Boone, 
from  the  top  of  the  stockade,  "and  then  I'll  tell  you 
what  will  be  done." 

"W7e'll  never  surrender!"  cried  his  men.  "We'll 
fight  as  long  as  an  ounce  of  lead  is  left  in  our  possession." 
Consequently,  horses  and  cattle  were  collected  from 
the  surrounding  fields,  and  all  was  made  ready  for  a 
stout  resistance;  and,  on  the  evening  following  the  call 
for  surrender,  Boone  cried  out  to  De  Quindre,  who 
approached  near  enough  to  the  stockade  to  hear  him: 


DANIEL   BOONE,   THE   PIONEER   59 

"We  laugh  at  your  demand.  Thank  you  for  giving 
us  notice  and  time  to  prepare  for  our  defense.  Your 
efforts  to  take  our  fort  will  not  prevail,  for  our  gates 
will  forever  deny  you  admittance.  Now  come  on  and 
you'll  get  a  dose  of  good  American  lead." 

Captain  De  Quindre  was  plainly  disappointed, 
but  asked  for  a  conference  with  nine  of  the  Americans. 
Although  from  where  they  were  they  could  talk  very 
well  with  the  enemy,  the  wary  pioneers  allowed  them- 
selves to  trust  a  foe  whose  perfidy  they  well  knew. 
Boone,  with  eight  others,  left  the  fort  to  treat  with  the 
whites  and  red  men;  and  so  earnestly  did  De  Quindre 
declare  that  his  orders  were  to  take  the  Kentuckians 
and  not  to  kill  them,  that  the  backwoodsmen  nearly 
believed  him.  At  any  rate,  a  treaty  was  signed,  the 
contents  of  which  have  never  come  down  to  us. 

"It  is  a  singular  custom  among  the  Indians  of  whom 
I  am  the  leader,"  said  De  Quindre,  when  the  articles 
had  been  signed,  "for  each  white  man  with  whom  they 
have  made  a  treaty,  to  give  each  hand  to  be  clasped 
by  an  Indian,  in  token  of  good  faith." 

"Cussed  if  it  ain't  a  curious  custom,"  Boone  whis- 
pered to  his  companions.  "Be  on  your  guard,  boys, 
and  if  a  redskin  makes  a  move  towards  his  hatchet  or 
gun,  skip  to  th'  fort,  immediate." 

The  white  men  held  out  their  knotted  hands.  The 
red  men  selected  for  the  occasion,  advanced,  each 
uttering  the  word  "Brother"  in  his  softest  tones.  But 
each  could  not  conceal  the  snake-like  glitter  in  his  eye; 
and  as  they  took  the  hands  of  the  pioneers,  each  grap- 
pled with  his  would-be  friend.  A  wild  yell  went  up 


60  FAMOUS    SCOUTS 

from  the  stockade,  where  the  companions  of  Boone 
and  his  men  saw  their  peril.  Quickly  the  Americans 
wrenched  themselves  free;  Boone  knocked  over  two 
red  men  with  his  fists;  and,  turning  around,  ran  like 
a  deer  to  the  doors  of  the  stockade,  his  eight  compan- 
ions behind  him.  A  shower  of  bullets,  tomahawks 
and  arrows  flew  by  them  as  they  ran,  but  unscathed 
they  entered  the  sheltering  walls  of  Boonesborough. 
Ping!  Ping!  sounded  the  rifles  of  the  Kentuckians; 
and,  falling  back  before  their  well-aimed  volleys,  the 
followers  of  De  Quindre  retired  to  the  forest,  where 
they  returned  the  fire  of  the  garrison  with  no  effect. 

"I'll  blow  up  the  cursed  Americans!"  cried  De 
Quindre,  with  an  oath.  "Men,  we'll  run  a  mine  into 
yonder  fortress  and  blow  it  to  a  thousand  pieces." 

Boonesborough  fortress  was  but  sixty  yards  from 
the  Kentucky  River;  and,  beginning  at  the  bank,  a 
tunnel  was  immediately  directed  towards  the  stock- 
ade. But  the  mud  in  the  river  soon  attracted  the 
wary  eye  of  one  of  the  garrison.  "We'll  countermine 
them,"  cried  Boone,  "  and  when  we  meet  there'll  be  a 
battle  fit  for  kings."  So  saying,  a  tunnel  was  started 
outwards  from  the  fort  to  meet  that  of  the  Indians. 

For  nine  days  heavy  firing  was  kept  up  by  the 
besiegers,  while  both  parties  indulged  in  a  rapid  inter- 
change of  rude  banterings.  "If  you  red  rascals  think 
you've  got  us,  you're  much  mistook,"  an  old  buck- 
skinned  hunter  would  yell  to  the  Indians  in  the  wood- 
land. "We'll  blow  you  all  to  the  devil  soon,"  a  voice 
would  come  back.  "Oh,  not  yet,"  would  be  the  reply; 
"wait  until  our  tunnel  meets  yours,  and  then  there 


DANIEL   BOONE,    THE   PIONEER    61 

will  be  a  big  time.  Oh  —  you  just  —  wait!"  Then 
the  roofs  of  the  cabins  caught  on  fire  from  blazing 
arrows,  but  rain  came  down  and  spoiled  the  burn-up 
which  the  Indians  were  expecting.  The  rain  also 
caved  in  the  top  of  the  mine,  within  a  few  yards  of  the 
gate,  and  things  looked  black  for  the  vainglorious 
De  Quindre.  In  utter  discouragement  he  raised  the 
siege  on  the  sixteenth  of  September,  and,  with  a  last 
parting  volley,  his  red  followers  retired  towards  the 
Little  Miami.  The  first  stiff  brush  in  old  Kentucky 
had  been  a  complete  and  overwhelming  victory  for 
the  followers  of  Boone,  the  sturdy  backwoodsman 
and  hardy  pioneer.  He  had  saved  Kentucky. 

Boone,  himself,  made  one  first-rate  shot,  for  he 
killed  a  runaway  negro  at  one  hundred  and  seventy- 
five  yards,  just  as  he  was  firing  into  the  fort  from  a 
tree.  The  bullet  hit  him  just  in  the  centre  of  his  fore- 
head. One  man  only  of  the  garrison  was  killed, 
and  four  wounded;  while  the  enemy  lost  thirty-seven 
by  death,  and  many  were  wounded.  After  the  battle, 
one  hundred  and  twenty-five  pounds'  weight  of  bullets 
was  picked  out  from  the  logs  of  the  fort,  where  it  had 
been  fired  by  the  redskins;  but  it  was  a  useless  ex- 
penditure of  ammunition.  Boonesborough  was  never 
again  attacked  by  a  large  body  of  Indians. 

One  reason  for  this  was  that  many  new  stations 
were  established  between  this  frontier  fortress  and 
the  Ohio  River,  the  most  important  of  which  were 
Bryan's  Station  and  Harrodsburg.  The  Indians,  fear- 
ing an  attack  from  the  rear,  were  thus  afraid  to  ad- 
vance upon  the  scarred  and  battered  log  stockade 


62  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

upon  the  rippling  Kentucky.  Boone,  having  saved  it, 
was  anxious  to  see  his  wife  again;  so  he  returned  to 
the  Yadkin  River  in  North  Carolina,  and  with  her 
started  for  Boonesborough  in  the  following  year. 
Among  other  valuables  that  he  brought  with  him 
was  a  sum  of  $20,000,  entrusted  to  him  by  persons  in 
North  Carolina  to  take  to  their  friends  in  Kentucky. 
But  he  was  set  upon  by  a  large  party  of  Indians  and 
white  renegades,  who  had  in  some  way  heard  of  the 
large  treasure  which  he  carried  upon  his  person.  He 
was  overpowered,  the  money  was  taken  away  from 
him,  and  poor  Boone  trudged  into  Boonesborough 
without  the  cash  which  he  was  supposed  to  be  bringing. 

Yet  there  were  compensations  for  him  in  spite  of 
this  ill  fortune.  He  was  court-martialed  for  surrender- 
ing his  men  at  the  Blue  Licks,  and  for  parleying  before 
the  fort  with  De  Quindre;  but  was  acquitted  with 
honor,  and  was  promoted  from  major  to  lieutenant- 
colonel.  Hence  he  is  invariably  called  Colonel  Boone, — 
one  of  the  first  and  most  glorious  of  Kentucky's  many 
colonels,  both  self-named  and  officially  appointed. 

Boone's  life,  always  eventful,  continued  so  until 
his  death.  Abandoning  his  claim  to  all  land  near 
Boonesborough,  he  moved  across  the  Kentucky  River 
and  settled  in  the  wilderness  again  at  a  place  called 
Boone's  Station,  another  tiny  fort  upon  the  frontier. 
Here  he  resumed  his  trade  of  hunting,  trapping,  guiding, 
and  cultivating  a  small  garden  patch.  The  man  seemed 
to  court  danger,  and  always  moved  onward  towards 
the  wilderness  when  his  work  of  settlement  had  been 
done.  He  was  part  gypsy,  part  general,  part  legisla- 


DANIEL   BOONE,    THE   PIONEER   63 

tor,  part  farmer;  and  he  was  only  satisfied  by  the  great 
quiet  of  the  unsullied  woodland. 

So  Boone  was  living  quietly,  when,  on  August  16th, 
1782,  a  mounted  messenger  came  riding  up  to  his  door 
with  the  news  that  Bryan's  Station  had  been  attacked 
by  an  overwhelming  force  of  redskins  and  whites. 
The  next  day  found  the  splendid  old  fellow  on  the 
march  to  the  scene  of  conflict,  with  his  rifle  upon  his 
shoulder.  With  him  were  all  the  able-bodied  men  of 
the  neighborhood. 

It  seems  that  there  had  been  but  fifty  men  in  the 
fort  at  Bryan's  Station,  when  a  body  of  twenty  Indians 
had  advanced  close  to  the  fort,  delivered  a  volley,  and 
then  had  retreated.  This  was  apparently  a  ruse  to 
draw  out  the  garrison,  but  there  were  old  Indian  fighters 
in  the  stockade,  and  they  knew  the  tactics  of  the  cun- 
ning red  men.  Consequently  none  ventured  beyond 
the  walls  of  the  fort,  but  runners  were  dispatched  to 
the  other  settlements  for  assistance.  These  men  crept 
silently  through  the  underbrush,  eluded  the  watchful 
red  men,  and  escaped  to  bring  the  news  of  the  attack 
to  Boonesborough. 

The  redskins  were  under  the  command  of  Simon 
Girty,  a  white  renegade  who  had  joined  them.  Strange 
as  it  may  seem,  this  often  happened  on  the  frontier; 
and  many  whites  of  weak  morals  and  character  joined 
the  Indians,  and  took  part  in  warfare  against  their 
own  race.  This  particular  leader  placed  his  red  war- 
riors about  the  garrison,  in  order  to  cut  off  any  possibil- 
ity of  escape,  and  then  settled  down  to  a  regular  siege. 
Whenever  a  head  showed  over  the  top  of  the  rampart, 


64  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

the  sharp  zip  of  a  bullet  showed  that  the  skulking 
Indians   were   forever   upon   the   watch. 

Daniel  Boone  soon  found  that  about  fifty  other 
frontiersmen  were  hurrying  towards  the  beleagured 
stockade.  Some  on  horseback,  and  others  on  foot, 
pressed  onward  towards  Bryan's  Station  and,  at  about 
two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  arrived  near  the  scene 
of  conflict.  But  the  redskins  lay  in  ambush  and,  as 
they  made  a  run  towards  the  stockade,  poured  a  heavy 
fire  upon  the  trappers  and  pioneers  with  Daniel  Boone. 
The  horsemen  plunged  through  the  circle  of  fire  with- 
out losing  a  man,  the  men  on  foot  dashing  through  a 
cornfield  in  order  to  drive  off  the  Indians,  only  to  be 
met  with  a  gruelling  fire,  which  killed  six  of  their  num- 
ber. Staggered  by  this,  but  returning  the  fire  with 
spirit,  they  rushed  towards  the  door  of  the  stockade, 
and  were  admitted  amidst  cheers  from  the  garrison, 
and  wild  yelpings  from  the  red  men,  who  had  hoped 
to  kill  them  all. 

Simon  Girty  now  crawled  to  a  stump,  and  demanded 
parley.  "If  you  surrender,  you  will  all  be  treated 
as  prisoners  of  war,"  said  he.  "You  will  not  suffer 
harm,  and  will  be  sent  to  your  homes  after  you  have 
been  paroled." 

A  young  fellow  named  Reynolds  hurled  back  a 
defiant  reply.  "I've  got  a  dog  here,"  he  cried,  "which 
is  the  meanest,  sneakiest,  trickiest  cur  in  all  Kentucky. 
I  call  him  Simon  Girty,  because  he  looks  like  you." 

"I've  got  artillery  and  reinforcements,"  cried 
Girty,  angered  by  the  young  man's  banter.  "  I'll  blow 
you  all  to  atoms  within  two  hours'  time." 


DANIEL   BOONE,    THE    PIONEER   65 

"Blow  away,"  came  the  tart  reply.  "If  any  of 
your  redskins  get  into  the  fort,  we'll  discard  our  guns 
and  use  whips  against  them.  We're  a  match  for  all 
the  artillery  this  side  of  the  Blue  Ridge." 

"Kill  the  renegade!"  "Shoot  the  white  scoundrel!" 
"A  bullet  for  the  dirty  dog!"  came  cries  from  the  friends 
and  companions  of  Daniel  Boone;  and,  seeing  that  he 
could  accomplish  nothing,  Girty  crept  back  to  his  own 
men,  disappointed  and  enraged.  Next  morning  he 
and  his  red  allies  had  departed.  Boone  and  his  fol- 
lowers had  saved  the  men  and  women  of  Bryan's  Station. 

But  this  was  not  all  of  the  fighting;  for  the  blood 
of  the  Kentuckians  was  now  up,  and  they  were  de- 
termined to  follow  Girty's  band,  and  bring  his  white 
and  red  followers  to  bay.  Trappers,  farmers  and 
pioneers  continued  to  come  into  Bryan's  Station,  so 
by  the  day  following  the  withdrawal  of  the  attacking 
force,  fully  one  hundred  and  eighty  well-armed  men 
were  on  hand.  Daniel  Boone's  son  Israel  was  among 
the  number,  and  also  his  brother  Samuel.  It  was 
decided  to  at  once  follow  the  trail  of  the  retreating 
savages,  which  was  very  plain;  and  so  much  that  Boone 
decided  it  had  been  purposely  made  so,  in  order  to 
draw  the  frontiersmen  on  to  an  ambuscade  by  a  su- 
perior force. 

"I  would  not  advance  at  this  time,"  said  he,  when 
his  advice  was  asked.  "  The  Indians  have  left  a  prom- 
inent trail.  Their  cast  off  garments  and  utensils 
are  strewn  along  the  path.  They  have  even  made 
marks  upon  the  trees  in  their  line  of  retreat.  These 
are  with  a  purpose.  They  mean  to  lead  us  into  an 


66  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

ambuscade.  Colonel  Logan  is  hastening  here  from 
Lexington  with  a  large  body  of  men.  Let  us  wait 
for  him  before  advancing;  divide  our  force;  catch  the 
enemy  between  our  two  bodies;  and  win  a  big  victory." 

"No!  No!"  shouted  the  frontiersmen.  "Let  us 
go  forward  and  clean  out  the  whole  outfit.  On!  On!" 

So  the  old  pioneer's  counsel  was  disregarded,  and 
they  pressed  forward  through  the  forest.  At  Blue 
Licks  (where  salt  was  usually  procured  by  the  settlers) 
the  trail  grew  very  fresh.  The  men  had  their  blood 
up  and,  with  a  yell  of  pleasure,  pressed  on  to  the  Lick- 
ing River.  A  few  redskins  were  skulking  in  the  brush 
on  the  opposite  shore.  They  withdrew  slowly,  which 
led  the  more  prudent  frontiersmen  to  believe  that  a 
large  party  must  be  in  front;  consequently,  a  halt  was 
ordered,  and  a  consultation  was  held.  When  Boone 
was  asked  for  his  word,  he  said,  "Boys!  I  know 
this  country  well.  I've  hunted  and  trapped  here  often. 
I  was  once  captured  here  by  the  redskins.  It  is  ap- 
parent that  the  Indians  are  near  here  in  force,  for  those 
that  we  have  seen  have  been  in  no  hurry  to  get  away. 
I  guarantee  that  they've  made  an  ambuscade  just  a 
mile  in  advance,  where  two  ravines,  one  on  either  side 
of  a  ridge,  run  in  such  a  way  that  a  concealed  foe  can 
attack  on  both  the  flank  and  the  rear  at  once. 

"  I  advise  one  of  two  things :  either  wait  for  Colonel 
Logan;  or,  if  we  do  attack,  split  the  force,  sending  a 
part  up  the  river  to  cross,  and  fall  on  the  enemy's  rear, 
while  the  other  presses  him  in  front,  —  and  by  no  means 
cross  the  river  until  the  ground  has  first  been  thoroughly 
reconnoitered." 


DANIEL   BOONE,    THE   PIONEER   67 

One  of  the  Kentuckians,  called  McGarry,  listened 
with  a  great  deal  of  impatience  at  this  sage  counsel. 
He  was  a  hot-tempered  fellow,  and  impetuous.  Spring- 
ing upon  his  horse  he  dashed  down  the  bank  into  the 
shallow  river,  which  could  be  easily  forded  here.  And, 
as  he  did  so,  he  cried  out,  "all  who  are  not  cowards 
will  follow  me." 

"Hurrah!  On!  We  want  a  fight!"  yelled  the  im- 
patient frontier  soldiers;  and,  rapidly  crossing  the 
stream,  they  rode  in  a  swift  gallop  towards  the  place 
where  the  last  redskins  had  been  seen.  Boone  followed 
in  the  rear  with  others  who  were  on  foot. 

As  the  knowing  pioneer  had  said,  no  sooner  had 
the  headstrong  riflemen  reached  the  junction  of  the  two 
ravines  than  a  galling  fire  was  poured  into  the  flanks 
by  swarms  of  redskins  concealed  in  the  scrub  growth 
of  timber  and  underbrush.  Scores  of  horsemen  went 
down,  and  the  front  lines  were  thrown  into  a  panic. 
The  entire  party  was  flanked;  and,  as  the  Kentuckians 
could  see  no  foe,  they  were  shot  like  rabbits  in  a  western 
"drive." 

But  the  Indians  came  out  of  the  ravine  where  they 
had  lain  hid,  and  rushed  to  close  quarters.  Boone's 
son  was  shot,  and  the  father  fought  like  a  tiger  over  his 
prostrate  body,  in  order  to  keep  the  red  men  from 
scalping  his  beloved  child.  As  he,  single-handed, 
kept  several  redskins  at  bay,  a  cry  went  up.  "We  are 
surrounded.  Retreat  to  the  river,  or  we  will  be  cap- 
tured!" There  was  a  stampede  for  the  water,  worse 
than  that  of  the  soldiers  under  St.  Clair  in  the  fight 
with  Little  Turtle.  Boone  found  himself  deserted, 


68  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

and  made  for  a  lower  ford,  known  only  to  himself. 

Meanwhile,  the  panic  was  general;  and,  as  many 
of  the  pioneers  could  not  swim,  the  redskins  cut  them 
down  easily  in  the  water.  Some  of  the  Canadians 
were  with  the  Indians,  and  Simon  Girty  took  sweet 
revenge  for  his  disappointment  at  Bryan's  Station. 
Most  of  the  Kentucky  officers  were  killed.  Several 
who  were  well  mounted  got  safely  away,  as  did  some 
of  the  pioneers  who  were  fast  runners.  Wild  whoops 
of  delight  went  up  on  all  sides  as  the  red  men  viewed 
the  total  rout  of  the  aggressive  Kentucky  riflemen. 
"Ugh!  Ugh!"  cried  they.  "We  make  big  fight.  We 
teach  the  white  men  how  to  run  on,  and  not  back." 

Daniel  Boone  easily  passed  through  the  forest  to 
Bryan's  Station  with  the  news  of  the  disaster.  For 
twenty  miles  the  redskins  pursued  what  was  left  of  the 
little  army;  but,  after  the  river  was  passed,  the  Ken- 
tuckians  turned  towards  them  and  put  up  such  a 
good  retreating  fire  that  the  red  men  kept  at  a  respect- 
ful distance. 

As  Colonel  Logan  heard  the  bad  news,  he  said  to 
Boone, 

"  Guide  me  to  the  spot.  We'll  make  a  forced  march, 
and  yet  redeem  the  day." 

Had  the  hot-heads  but  listened  to  the  advice  of 
the  old  pioneer,  Boone,  there  would  have  been  no  tale  of 
defeat  to  bring  to  the  anxious  settlers  at  Bryan's  Sta- 
tion. When  this  new  body  of  rangers  reached  the 
scene  of  conflict,  the  red  men  and  Canadians  had  with- 
drawn to  Old  Chillicothe  on  the  Ohio  River,  having 
buried  their  own  dead,  but  leaving  the  Americans  to 


DANIEL   BOONE,    THE   PIONEER   69 

lie  as  they  had  fallen.  These  the  men  under  Boone 
and  Logan  interred  upon  the  field;  and,  returning  to 
Bryan's  Station,  disbanded  the  troops,  as  the  Indians 
had  apparently  withdrawn.  A  large  pile  of  stone 
was  all  that  marked  where  sixty-seven  rash  Kentuckians 
had  rushed  to  their  doom. 

This  was  the  bloodiest  battle  ever  fought  between 
red  men  and  white  for  the  soil  of  the  beautiful  Kentucky. 
How  differently  it  would  have  ended  had  the  pioneers 
but  relied  upon  the  counsel  of  the  well-seasoned  pioneer, 
the  founder  of  Boonesborough !  But  men  are  rash; 
courage  among  American  frontiersmen  has  never  been 
lacking,  and  such  disasters  as  this  but  taught  those 
good  lessons  which  have  been  necessary  for  the  white 
pioneers  who  were  to  win  the  great  and  fertile  West. 
The  19th  of  August,  1782,  was  long  celebrated  in  Ken- 
tucky as  the  one  day  of  greatest  sorrow  during  the 
early  struggles  of  this  border  state.  The  redskins 
never  entered  Kentucky  again  for  another  foray,  for 
shortly  afterwards  a  treaty  of  peace  between  Great 
Britain  and  the  United  States  put  an  end  to  all  war- 
fare between  the  Canadians  and  American  frontiers- 
men. Without  the  backing  of  the  English  troops 
the  red  men  dared  not  again  attack  the  settlements. 

Colonel  Boone  erected  a  comfortable  log  hut  on  one 
of  the  tracts  of  land  which  he  had  settled  upon,  and 
nearby  erected  a  small  "tobacco  house"  for  curing 
tobacco  in,  and  storing  the  leaves  when  dried.  The 
stalks  of  the  tobacco  plant  were  split,  and  strung  upon 
sticks  about  four  feet  in  length,  the  ends  of  them  being 
upon  poles  placed  in  rows  across  the  building. 


70  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

One  day  the  colonel  was  busy  moving  a  dry  row  of 
tobacco  leaves  to  the  top  of  the  little  hut,  and  was  up 
in  the  air,  supporting  himself  upon  a  row  of  poles, 
when  he  looked  below  and  saw  four  Indians  enter  the 
low  doorway.  All  had  rifles  in  their  hands,  which 
they  proceeded  to  level  at  his  breast.  The  old  pioneer 
was  alarmed,  though,  being  a  perfect  master  of  his 
nerve,  he  did  not  show  it,  but  smiled  good-naturedly 
upon  the  intruders. 

"Now,  Boone,  we  got  you,"  said  a  large  red  man. 
"  You  no  get  away  again.  We  carry  you  to  Chillicothe 
this  time,  sure.  You  no  cheat  us  any  more.  Ugh! 
Ugh!  Get  down  and  come  along  with  us." 

The  colonel  recognized  the  speaker  as  a  red  man 
who  had  captured  him  in  1778.  Smiling  benignly, 
he  answered: 

"Ah,  my  old  friend!  Glad  to  see  you.  Wait  a 
moment,  please,  until  I  have  finished  with  this  tobacco, 
will  you?  You  can  stand  there  and  watch  me  until 
I  am  through.  Then  I  will  come  down  and  you  can 
do  what  you  like  with  me." 

"Ugh!  Ugh!"  grunted  the  redskins;  and,  lower- 
ing their  guns,  they  watched  him  very  carefully 

As  the  wily  old  pioneer  gathered  together  the 
tobacco  leaves,  he  kept  up  a  string  of  questioning. 
The  red  men  were  very  busy  answering  his  remarks; 
and  meanwhile  he  collected  a  large  armful  of  extremely 
dry  stalks  and  leaves. 

"Look  up  here,"  cried  the  frontiersman.  "I've 
got  a  notion  that  one  of  you  used  to  camp  with  me 
when  I  lived  with  your  chief." 


DANIEL   BOONE,   THE   PIONEER   71 

As  he  spoke  the  red  men  turned  their  painted  faces 
upward.  In  a  moment  Boone  had  jumped  upon  them, 
breaking  the  tobacco  stalks  as  he  did  so,  and  thrown 
the  pulverized  tobacco  leaf  into  their  eyes.  The  red 
men  sputtered,  and  gasped  for  breath,  while  crafty 
Boone  raced  out  of  the  door,  and  to  his  own  log  cabin, 
as  if  a  hundred  wolves  were  after  him.  As  he  reached 
the  door  the  redskins  started  in  pursuit,  but  he  banged 
it  in  their  faces,  and  the  end  of  his  trusty  flintlock  was 
soon  thrust  out  of  a  loophole. 

"Be  gone,  you  red  devils,"  shouted  the  hardy  pio- 
neer. 

Crack!  A  bullet  whizzed  by  the  head  of  the  Indian 
who  had  first  spoken;  and,  without  waiting  longer  to 
parley  with  the  most  skilful  shot  in  the  wilderness, 
the  redskins  rushed  into  the  forest  as  if  Old  Nick  him- 
self were  behind  them.  Boone,  meanwhile,  was  roar- 
ing with  laughter;  and,  such  was  his  fame  among  the 
red  men  from  this  exploit,  that  never  again  was  his 
home  invaded. 

But  the  country  around  him  soon  became  closely 
settled;  and,  stirred  with  the  true  spirit  of  the  real 
pioneer,  who  is  happy  only  where  the  game  is  and  peo- 
ple are  not,  the  now  middle-aged  frontiersman  moved, 
with  his  family  and  few  possessions,  across  the  Missis- 
sippi. Rogues  and  land  speculators,  who  knew  the 
law,  dispossessed  him  of  what  ground  he  had  received 
from  the  authorities.  Sadly,  but  not  bitterly,  the 
stout-hearted  man  of  the  woods  began  life  anew  in  a 
territory  which  then  belonged  to  the  Crown  of  Spain. 
Recognizing  his  merit,  this  government  appointed 


72  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

him  a  Justice  of  the  Peace;  but  plenty  of  leisure  re- 
mained to  him  for  hunting,  and  in  two  winters  he  ob- 
tained enough  furs  to  pay  off  numerous  debts  which 
he  had  contracted  in  Kentucky.  Honesty  is  the  chief 
characteristic  of  a  true  pioneer,  and  Daniel  Boone  was 
as  honest  as  could  be. 

When  the  noble  old  fellow  returned  to  Missouri, 
after  paying  his  creditors  in  Kentucky,  he  said  to  the 
members  of  his  family: 

"Now  I  am  ready  and  willing  to  die;  I  am  relieved 
of  a  burden  that  has  long  oppressed  me;  I  have  paid 
all  my  debts,  and  no  one  will  say,  when  I  am  gone, 
'  Boone  was  a  dishonest  man ' ;  I  am  perfectly  willing 
to  die." 

About  eight  thousand  five  hundred  acres  of  land 
had  been  given  Boone  by  the  Spanish  Government,  in 
recognition  of  his  official  services;  but,  as  he  did  not 
take  up  his  residence  upon  them,  and  did  not  receive 
confirmation  of  the  grant  from  the  royal  governor  of 
New  Orleans,  his  claim  was  disputed  by  the  officials 
at  St.  Louis,  when  this  property  came  into  the  posses- 
sion of  the  United  States  Government  by  purchase 
from  Spain.  Boone  "reckoned  that  it  would  be  all 
right";  but  it  wasn't  all  right,  and  the  claim  was  re- 
jected by  the  commissioners  appointed  to  decide  such 
matters. 

Not  pleased  with  this,  the  old  colonel  sent  a  peti- 
tion to  Congress,  in  1812,  praying  that  his  original 
claim  of  land  be  allotted  to  him.  The  Kentucky  legis- 
lature directed  the  two  senators  from  the  state  to  exert 
themselves  in  his  behalf.  His  appeal  was  neglected 


DANIEL   BOONE,  THE   PIONEER    73 

for  some  time,  but  at  last  it  was  taken  up  by  Congress, 
who  granted  him  just  the  amount  to  which  each  settler 
was  entitled  should  he  build  a  homestead.  Boone 
does  not  seem  to  have  been  depressed  by  this,  and 
spent  his  declining  years  in  the  belief  that  he  had  re- 
ceived just  treatment  at  the  hands  of  his  own  govern- 
ment. 

The  old  scout  and  woodsman  was  now  too  infirm 
for  hunting,  and  occupied  his  time  in  making  powder- 
horns  for  his  grandchildren,  repairing  rifles,  and  in 
tanning  deerskins  and  those  of  other  animals.  He  had 
lived  to  be  over  eighty.  He  had  been  the  founder  of 
the  first  town  of  white  people  in  Kentucky.  He  had 
seen  the  red  men  driven  from  the  "dark  and  bloody 
ground."  He  had  helped  to  do  it,  and  had  adventures 
both  startling  and  exciting.  As  he  sat  quietly  before 
his  little  home,  a  comfortable  two-storied  stone  man- 
sion, his  eyes  would  light  with  pleasure  as  he  called  to 
remembrance  the  many  startling  and  exciting  scenes 
through  which  he  had  passed.  So  he  lived  peacefully, 
until,  on  the  26th  of  September,  1820,  Death— the 
great  and  silent  reaper  —  claimed  him  for  his  own. 

The  remains  of  Kentucky's  first  and  most  noted 
pioneer  now  lie  at  Frankfort,  Kentucky.  A  square 
tablet  of  stone  rests  above  the  body  of  the  frontiers- 
man; and  upon  the  four  sides  are  bronze  tablets  depict- 
ing his  more  noted  conflicts  with  the  red  men.  In  his 
old  age  (and  in  no  boastful  spirit)  he  had  said,  "The 
history  of  the  western  country  has  been  my  history." 
To  him  and  to  his  bold  pioneering  the  United  States 
owes  one  of  its  great  highways  —  the  Wilderness 


74  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

Road  —  over  which  thousands  of  homeseekers  passed 
in  the  first  peopling  of  the  West,  before  the  railroad 
was  known  or  constructed.  During  the  American 
Revolution  he  was  first  and  foremost  in  defending  the 
small  and  weak  settlements  which  had  been  planted 
beyond  the  Blue  Ridge.  More  than  any  other  man, 
he  made  English  colonists  acquainted  with  the  vast, 
fertile,  and  unoccupied  region  between  the  Alleghany 
Mountains  and  the  muddy  waters  of  the  Mississippi. 
And  when  the  people  had  followed  him,  he  crossed  the 
turbulent  stream  to  the  further  West,  the  land  of  the 
setting  sun ;  and  died,  as  he  had  lived,  —  in  the  peace 
of  the  wilderness,  in  the  forefront  of  civilization. 

The  cardinal  red  bird  —  that  sweet-throated  minstrel 
of  Kentucky  —  often  carols  his  mellow  song  above  the 
spot  where,  shadowed  by  the  nodding  tassels  of  the 
blue-grass,  peacefully  sleeps  the  body  of  brave,  cour- 
ageous, imaginative  Daniel  Boone,  father  of  the  land 
of  plenty. 

Peace  to  the  memory  of  that  intrepid  explorer  of 
what  was  once  the  "  dark  and  bloody  ground." 


SIMON     KENTON:     THE     PLUCKIEST 

WOODSMAN  UPON  THE  OHIO 

FRONTIER 

IN  the  year  1773,  three  woodsmen  lay  before  a 
blazing  fire  in  the  American  wilderness.  Nearby 
ran  the  muddy  waters  of  the  Great  Kanawha 
River,  and  all  around  were  the  dense  forests  which  then 
clothed  the  vast,  unpeopled  country  of  the  Ohio. 

One  was  a  tall,  lean  fellow,  clad  in  a  soiled  suit  of 
buckskin.  The  second,  who  bent  over  the  fire,  was  a 
middle-aged  trapper,  also  in  buckskin,  but  with  a 
calico  shirt  above,  which  showed  that  he  had  recently 
been  near  the  white  settlements.  The  third  was  a 
young  chap  of  but  eighteen,  tall,  well  formed,  and 
swarthy.  His  uncut  hair  fell  in  dark  waves  around 
his  shoulders,  and  his  whole  form  was  supple  and  wiry 
to  the  last  degree. 

"Well,  Simon  Butler,"  said  the  tall  fellow,  "I 
reckon  that  this  is  about  th'  best  place  we've  ever 
struck  fer  a  camp  ground.  An'  now  that  we're  here 
we  kin  rest  a  bit.  But  tell  me,  son,  ef  you  ain't  travel- 
lin'  sorter  under  false  pretenses.  Fer  I've  a  notion 
that  your  name  ain't  quite  exactly  ez  you  say  it  is. 
Come  now,  boy,  ain't  I  right?" 

The  young  fellow  had  turned  very  red  beneath  the 
sunburn  on  his  cheeks.  He  stammered  out  his  reply. 

"N-n-ow  what  do  you  know?"  he  asked.  "I'm 
75 


76  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

not  going  to  tell  you  my  whole  history  up  to 
now." 

"Might  ez  well,"  grunted  the  tall  man.  "So  long 
ez  a  feller's  a  good  sort  out  here,  don't  make  no  dif- 
ference what  his  name  might  have  been  back  in  th' 
settlements.  Now,  make  a  clean  breast  uv  it.  Ain't 
I  a-tellin'  you  what  is  right?" 

The  young  fellow  winced.  "  Well,"  said  he,  straight- 
ening up,  "I  might  as  well  make  a  clean  breast  of  it. 
My  name  is  n't  Butler;  it's  Kenton,  Simon  Kenton, 
and  I  was  born  in  Fauquier  County,  Virginia.  I  had 
as  happy  a  home  as  any  man,  and  I  was  expecting  to 
settle  down  upon  a  farm  which  my  father  had  given 
me,  when  I  fell  in  love  with  as  beautiful  a  girl  as  the 
sun  ere  shone  upon.  But  another  fellow  loved  her 
too,  a  fellow  called  Leitchman;  and  because  I  would 
not  give  up  my  suit  I  was  caught  and  pummeled  by 
his  friends.  I  swore  revenge  upon  the  man  who  had 
instigated  this.  I  challenged  Leitchman  to  a  stand- 
up  fight.  We  had  an  awful  battle,  but  finally  I  got 
him  down  and  tied  him  to  a  bush  by  winding  his  long 
hair  in  the  branches.  Then  I  beat  him  so  hard  that 
he  finally  lay  lifeless  before  me, —  at  least,  I  feared 
that  I  had  killed  him. 

"Frightened  at  this,  for  I  knew  that  I  would  be 
hung,  I  immediately  resolved  upon  flight.  I  struck 
out  for  the  West.  I  knew  that  a  reward  might  be 
offered  for  my  capture,  and  so  I  turned  my  name  into 
Butler,  instead  of  Kenton,  and  as  Butler  I  wish  to  be 
known.  Mind  me,  now:  never  give  away  my  secret, 
and  always  call  me  Simon  Butler, —  or  else  some  sharp 


SIMON    KENTON,    WOODSMAN       77 

ear  will  catch  my  real  name;  I  will  be  caught,  and  a 
rope  will  be  around  my  neck." 

"I  promise  you,  pardner,"  said  the  thin  fellow. 
"Strader  is  the  name  I  go  by,  but  I've  had  a  dozen 
others.  Yager,  here,  our  other  pal,  has  also  had  his 
own  experiences  about  which  we'd  better  say  nothing. 
Now,  I'm  goin'  for  my  traps,  and  let's  hope  I've  had  a 
good  day's  catch."  Arid,  so  saying,  he  was  off  into 
the  wildwood. 

The  three  men  lived  peacefully  together,  trapping 
and  hunting.  Finally  in  March,  1773,  a  body  of  Shaw- 
nees  discovered  the  home  of  the  bold  white  invaders, 
and  attacked  it.  As  the  trappers  fled  into  the  forest, 
Strader  fell  dead;  but  Kenton  and  Yager  got  safely 
off,  with  no  blankets  or  provisions,  but  with  their  guns 
and  some  ammunition.  Hastily  they  fled  through  the 
dense  wood  in  the  direction  of  the  Ohio  River,  with 
no  guide  but  the  moss  upon  the  trees,  on  the  north- 
ward side,  and  with  very  little  to  eat  save  squirrels, 
roots,  and  berries.  Finally,  upon  the  fifth  day,  they 
reached  the  banks  of  the  river,  completely  worn  out. 
But  luck  was  with  them.  Below  came  the  smoke  from 
a  white  man's  encampment,  and,  crawling  to  this,  they 
soon  found  a  party  of  explorers,  who  gave  them  enough 
food  to  sustain  their  strength.  They  were,  for  the 
time  being,  safe. 

But  Kenton  soon  left  for  a  lonely  trip  into  the 
forest,  in  search  of  furs;  and  here  he  lived  until  the 
breaking  out  of  Lord  Dunmore's  War,  when  he  was 
enrolled  as  a  kscout  with  the  English  and  Virginian 
troops.  He  did  good  service,  and  with  him  often 


78  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

was  Simon  Girty, —  that  white  renegade  who  made 
the  attack  upon  the  pioneer  settlement  of  Bryan's 
Station  in  Kentucky.  At  this  time  Girty  was  con- 
sidered to  be  a  great  scout  and  soldier,  and  brought 
much  valuable  information  to  the  camp  of  the  English. 
The  war  was  soon  over,  and  Kenton  returned  to  his 
life  of  woodland  rover,  trapper  and  explorer. 

Drifting  towards  the  then  unknown  West,  he  finally 
reached  Boonesborough  when  it  was  but  a  tiny  little 
settlement.  His  life  had  been  adventurous  and  he  had 
many  a  brush  with  the  redskins,  but  he  now  determined 
to  join  the  first  settlers  of  Kentucky  in  their  attempt 
to  establish  a  town  in  the  land  of  insecurit}'.  Here 
he  was  employed  as  a  spy,  with  excellent  success,  and 
was  in  the  two  sieges  of  that  stout  and  impregnable  little 
fortress. 

In  the  year  1777,  several  men  who  were  working 
in  the  fields  near  Boonesborough  were  attacked  by 
Indians,  and  they  ran  towards  the  fort,  which  was  some 
distance  away.  A  red  man  caught  one  of  the  whites 
and  tomahawked  him,  but  as  he  stooped  over  to  scalp 
him  he  was  covered  by  Kenton's  rifle.  A  sharp  crack, 
and  he  fell  dead.  Kenton  had  shot  him  from  a  distance 
of  about  two  hundred  yards. 

"Come,  boys,"  cried  Daniel  Boone  at  this  moment, 
"  let's  outside  to  their  rescue." 

As  he  spoke,  Kenton  rushed  out  with  him,  and 
hastened  in  the  direction  of  the  fleeing  settlers.  The 
red  men  shot  at  them  as  they  approached,  and  Boone 
fell  to  the  ground,  badly  wounded.  A  red  man  was 
immediately  upon  him,  with  his  knife  in  the  air,  but, 


SIMON    KENTON,    WOODSMAN      79 

as  he  seized  the  great  pioneer,  Kenton  sprang  at  him. 
With  the  quickness  of  a  cat  he  felled  the  red  man  with 
a  blow  from  his  musket,  and  then  seizing  Boone  hi  his 
arms  ran  with  him  to  the  fort.  The  gates  were  opened 
to  receive  them  and  soon  all  were  inside. 

Next  morning  the  great  Daniel  Boone  sent  for 
Kenton,  and,  seizing  him  warmly  by  the  hand,  said: 

"Well,  Simon,  yesterday  you  behaved  yourself 
like  a  man.  You  are  a  fine  fellow,  Simon.  May  you 
continue  to  live,  and  do  other  deeds  as  noble  as  the  one 
which  you  performed  for  me.  I  am  deeply  grateful." 

Kenton  smiled,  for  he  knew  what  these  few  words 
meant  from  Boone,  the  man  of  action,  whose  motto 
was  to  do  and  not  to  talk. 

In  1778  Boone  led  an  expedition  against  the  Shaw- 
nee  towns  upon  the  Ohio  and  Little  Miami  Rivers. 
Kenton  went  along  as  a  scout,  and  was  one  day  far 
in  advance  of  the  party,  when  he  heard  voices  in  the 
thicket.  He  stood  still  behind  a  tree.  As  he  waited, 
two  Shawnees  —  mounted  on  a  single  pony  —  came 
into  view.  Kenton  waited  until  they  neared  him, 
and  then  fired  two  shots  in  quick  succession.  One  red 
man  fell  dead,  and  the  other  was  badly  wounded,  so 
Kenton  rushed  from  his  hiding  place  with  a  yell  of  joy. 
But  it  came  near  being  his  last  cry,  for,  as  he  came  up 
to  the  two  redskins,  a  yell  arose  from  every  side,  and 
he  was  soon  surrounded  by  about  forty  Shawnees. 
He  turned  and  ran  as  fast  as  legs  could  be  forced  to  go. 
By  dodging  and  hiding  he  at  last  reached  his  own 
party,  who,  advancing  to  the  attack,  soon  drove  off 
the  red  men. 


80  FAMOUS    SCOUTS 

After  returning  to  Boonesborough,  Kenton  went 
upon  a  scouting  expedition  to  steal  Indian  ponies, 
and  was  so  successful  that  he  determined  to  make 
another  attempt.  So  with  two  other  bold  spirits  — 
Clark  and  Montgomery  —  he  started  for  the  Shawnee 
town  of  Chillicothe  on  the  Ohio  River,  where  the  red 
men  had  many  fine  horses.  He  was  a  true  adventurer 
—  was  Kenton  —  and  we  will  see  how  his  uncurbed 
spirit  got  him  into  many  difficulties. 

The  three  plainsmen  reached  the  vicinity  of  this 
celebrated  Indian  town  without  even  seeing  a  redskin. 
"Ah,"  thought  Kenton,  "this  time  I  will  astonish 
those  people  of  Boonesborough,  sure.  Come,  boys, 
we'll  put  some  salt  down  here,  capture  the  ponies  when 
they  come  up  to  lick  it,  and  be  off  before  the  red  men 
know  that  we've  been  anywhere  near." 

It  proved  easy  to  catch  the  horses.  Soon  seven 
were  procured,  and,  putting  halters  on  their  heads, 
the  three  scouts  were  soon  riding  towards  the  Ohio 
River.  But  a  terrible  rain  and  wind  storm  arose. 
They  found  it  impossible  to  cross  the  stream,  for  the 
Ohio  boiled  and  surged  like  the  current  of  Niagara. 
The  horses  refused  to  swim  the  current,  so  they  had  to 
be  driven  back  seven  miles  to  a  pasture,  where  the 
animals  could  be  turned  loose  to  graze. 

Next  day  the  horses  were  driven  back  to  the  Ohio, 
but  again  they  refused  to  cross.  Here  was  a  dilemma 
indeed.  Realizing  that  the  red  men  were  now  in  full 
pursuit,  three  of  the  best  animals  were  selected,  and 
the  adventurers  started  for  the  falls  of  the  Ohio  River, 
where  some  white  soldiers  were  known  to  be. 


SIMON    KENTON,    WOODSMAN      81 

"By  George,"  said  Clark,  when  they  had  gone  a 
short  distance,  "one  of  those  horses  which  we  turned 
out  was  the  best  I  ever  saw.  I,  for  one,  am  going 
back  to  get  it.  I  don't  believe  the  redskins  know 
which  way  we  have  gone." 

"And  we'll  go  back  with  you,"  said  both  the  others; 
so,  turning  around,  they  were  soon  in  search  of  the 
four  ponies.  It  was  an  unfortunate  move. 

The  three  men  separated,  hi  order  to  cover  more 
ground.  Kenton,  himself,  started  for  the  ford  in  the 
river,  where  they  had  endeavored  to  take  the  horses 
across  upon  the  day  previous.  He  went  along  cau- 
tiously. Finally,  as  he  was  hi  a  small  belt  of  timber, 
he  heard  a  wild  war-whoop  just  in  front  of  him,  warn- 
ing that  red  men  were  near.  Just  then  he  came  upon 
a  bank,  and,  mounting  it,  perceived  a  dozen  redskins 
before  him,  gazing  at  some  tracks  in  the  soil.  He  saw 
that  in  a  moment  he  would  be  discovered.  So  he 
aimed  at  the  nearest  Indian,  fired,  and  then  ran  his 
horse  through  a  clump  of  woods  that  had  been  up- 
rooted by  the  storm.  With  a  wild  yell  the  red  men 
started  in  pursuit. 

Kenton  rode  well  and  hard.  As  he  came  out  of 
the  timber  a  redskin  met  him.  Leaping  from  his  pony 
the  Indian  rushed  at  him  with  his  tomahawk  raised. 
The  scout  had  not  time  to  load.  He  drew  back  to  hit 
him  with  his  gun,  when  two  arms  were  wound  around 
his  body.  A  Shawnee  had  crept  up  in  the  rear,  unseen, 
and  had  him  fast.  "I  surrender,"  cried  Kenton.  "Do 
with  me  as  you  will." 

The  redskins  bound  him  with  deer  thongs,  and  as 


82  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

they  did  so  Montgomery  (one  of  his  white  companions) 
rode  up  and  fired  at  them.  He  missed,  and  with  a 
loud  yell  the  red  men  started  in  pursuit.  In  a  half 
hour  they  returned,  brandishing  his  scalp  on  a  long 
pole.  "Ugh!  Ugh!"  said  they.  "Your  friend  he 
make  no  fight.  He  one  big  coward!"  Clark  escaped 
their  eyes,  and  arrived  safely  at  a  white  settlement 
called  Logan's  Fort. 

But  the  Indians  were  going  to  have  some  fun,  and 
hi  their  own  manner.  Catching  their  wildest  horse 
they  lashed  Kenton  to  his  back,  tying  mocassins  on 
his  hands  so  that  he  could  not  untie  himself.  His 
neck  was  bound  with  a  thong  to  the  neck  of  the  horse, 
while  the  red  men  crowded  around,  saying: 

"You  steal  Injun  hoss  again,  heh?  Injun  got  heap, 
good  hoss, —  you  ride  away  with  some?  You  Long 
Knife  like  Injun  hoss,  heh?  You  steal  whole  lot,  heh? 
Now  Long  Knife  on  Injun  hoss,  but  no  steal  it,  heh? 
Ugh!  Ugh!" 

Then,  having  Kenton  securely  bound,  they  struck 
the  pony  with  whips,  and  he  ran  off  into  the  woodland. 
The  unfortunate  man  on  his  back  was  scratched  and 
torn  by  briars  and  twigs,  besides  being  bumped  against 
trees  and  bruised  by  being  struck  by  saplings.  The 
horse  to  which  he  was  bound  wandered  about  all  day, 
but  at  nightfall  he  grew  lonely  and  returned  to  the 
other  ponies  with  the  Indians.  He  jogged  along  quietly 
by  the  side  of  that  of  the  chief  man. 

That  night  the  now  half-exhausted  Kenton  was 
laid  upon  his  back  and  tied  to  stakes  driven  in  the 
ground.  A  pole  was  placed  across  his  breast  and  his 


SIMON    KENTON,    WOODSMAN      83 

arms  tied  to  it;  then  his  neck  was  tied  to  a  tree.  Clouds 
of  gnats  and  mosquitoes  surrounded  and  stung  him, 
but,  in  spite  of  that,  he  was  left  this  way  for  three  nights. 

Finally  the  little  party  neared  Chillicothe,  and  all 
the  redskins  in  that  encampment  came  out  to  welcome 
the  captors  of  poor  Kenton.  When  they  saw  the  white 
man  they  yelped  and  danced  around  him,  beating  him 
with  clubs  and  kicking  him.  For  about  an  hour  they 
continued  this  treatment,  and  then  left  him  to  the 
gnats  and  mosquitoes  while  they  had  a  feast.  In  the 
morning  they  decided  to  make  him  run  the  gauntlet. 

As  Kenton  looked  down  the  two  lines  of  redskins 
—  about  two  hundred  in  all  —  he  saw  that  nearly  all 
had  stout,  hickory  clubs,  but  one  or  two  were  armed 
with  sharp  knives.  He  knew  that  these  intended  to 
kill  him  when  he  ran  by.  In  an  instant  his  mind  was 
made  up.  When  the  word  was  given  for  him  to  go, 
he  ran  as  hard  as  he  could,  and,  just  before  he  reached 
the  first  Indian  armed  with  a  knife,  he  broke  through 
the  line  and  made  off  to  the  woods.  He  could  run 
like  a  deer,  and  was  rapidly  drawing  away  from  his 
pursuers,  who,  with  savage  cries,  started  after  the 
runaway. 

"Now,"  thought  Kenton,  "I  can  get  away."  But 
his  hopes  of  freedom  were  to  be  speedily  quenched. 
An  Indian,  returning  from  hunting,  just  then  came 
through  the  woodland,  and,  seeing  the  escaped  white 
man,  made  a  running  dive  at  him.  With  a  dull  thud  both 
came  to  the  ground,  for  the  red  man  would  have  made 
an  excellent  football  player.  In  a  moment  poor  Kenton 
was  seized  and  bound,  kicked,  beaten,  and  left  for 


84  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

dead.  But,  fearing  that  their  captive  would  die,  some 
red  men  returned  and  gave  him  food  and  water.  "  We 
need  you,"  said  they.  "Ugh!  Ugh!  We  give  you 
good  trial." 

Next  day  Kenton  was  taken  to  the  council-chamber. 
In  the  centre  of  a  circle  of  warriors  stood  the  oldest 
chief  with  a  knife  and  a  stick  in  his  hand.  He  passed 
a  war  club  to  one  of  the  surrounding  warriors,  and 
the  fellow  struck  the  ground  with  it.  This  meant  that 
he  wished  to  see  the  prisoner  die.  As  he  did  so  the 
old  man  cut  a  notch  upon  one  side  of  the  stick.  But 
some  of  the  red  men  passed  it  on,  meaning  that  they 
voted  for  the  life  of  Simon  Kenton,  who  just  about  now 
began  to  wish  that  he  had  never  seen  an  Indian  pony. 
The  head  man  tallied  upon  the  stick,  first  upon  one 
side,  then  upon  the  other;  and  when  all  was  over  it- 
could  be  plainly  seen  that  the  verdict  was  "death  to 
the  prisoner." 

Kenton  looked  cheerful,  determined  to  show  no 
lack  of  courage  in  this  trial,  for  the  Indian  detests  a 
coward.  But  it  must  now  be  decided  where  he  was 
to  be  put  to  death.  After  again  taking  a  vote,  it  was 
decided  that  he  must  die  at  Wapitomica,  an  Indian 
settlement  nearby.  He  was  taken  in  charge,  there- 
fore, by  several  braves  and  marched  towards  the  place 
of  execution,  passing  through  many  encampments 
en  route,  in  all  of  which  he  was  forced  to  run  the  gaunt- 
let, and  was  severely  beaten  and  kicked. 

Every  moment  young  Kenton  hoped  to  have  an 
opportunity  to  escape;  but  he  had  no  chance.  Finally 
as  they  were  passing  through  the  last  village,  one  of 


SIMON    KENTON,    WOODSMAN       85 

his  guards  let  go  his  hold  upon  him,  and,  turning  to- 
wards the  woods,  he  ran  as  he  had  never  run  before. 
Although  weak  from  torture  and  lack  of  proper  food, 
he  soon  left  his  pursuers  in  the  rear.  Hope  rose  high 
in  his  breast.  He  pushed  on,  panting,  sure  that  he 
could  soon  get  into  the  dense  forest  where  he  could  not 
be  tracked.  But  alas!  Suddenly  a  body  of  fifty  red- 
skins on  horseback  came  in  his  path.  They  saw  him. 
In  a  moment  he  was  surrounded,  caught,  and  carried 
back  to  his  guardians,  who  said  with  some  show  of 
appreciation.  "Ugh!  You  Long  Knife  run  like  the 
red  deer.  Ugh!  Your  name  not  Long  Knife  but  He- 
Of-The-Winged-Foot." 

They  entered  Wapitomica,  and,  as  Kenton's  face 
had  already  been  stained  with  black  dye,  which  showed 
that  he  had  been  condemned  to  death,  he  little  hoped 
to  go  free.  But  the  love  of  life  is  strong  when  one  is 
but  twenty-three.  Eagerly  he  watched  for  another 
opportunity  to  get  away,  and,  as  he  peered  about  him 
upon  the  yelping  band  which  came  from  their  wigwams 
to  view  the  new  prisoner,  his  eye  looked  keenly  for  a 
chance  to  free  himself.  Suddenly,  as  he  gazed  upon 
the  howling  throng,  his  eye  lighted  with  a  spark  of 
pleasure,  for  there  before  him  was  Simon  Girty,  the 
renegade,  and  a  brother  scout  in  earlier  days. 

"Girty!"  he  ejaculated.  "Don't  you  know  me?" 
The  renegade  looked  at  him  carefully.  "By  all 
that's  true,"  he  cried,  "it's  my  old  friend,  Simon 
Butler."  Then,  stepping  to  his  side,  he  whispered, 
"Leave  it  all  to  me.  I'll  see  that  you  get  away.  Say 
nothing,  but  do  as  I  say,  when  the  time  comes." 


86  FAMOUS    SCOUTS 

The  young  prisoner  was  hurried  to  the  council- 
chamber,  and  there  was  asked  how  many  white  men 
were  in  Kentucky.  He  was  true  to  his  friends  and 
said  that  he  did  not  know,  but,  thinking  it  better  to 
make  the  numbers  greater  than  they  really  were,  he 
named  every  man  who  had  some  military  title  attached 
to  his  name.  He  thus  created  the  impression  that 
the  whites  were  very  strong. 

"But  what  is  your  own  name?"  asked  a  chief. 

"Simon  Butler,"  answered  the  brave  youth. 

Immediately  Simon  Girty  rushed  up  to  him  —  for 
he  had  just  entered  —  and  embraced  him  with  ardor. 
He  kissed  him  upon  both  cheeks,  and,  turning  to  the 
scowling  warriors,  addressed  them  in  these  words: 

"Warriors,  this  man  is  my  friend;  I  desire  that  you 
give  him  over  to  me.  See,  I  have  just  taken  seven 
scalps  of  the  whites,  which  are  at  my  belt.  Warriors, 
shall  I  be  denied  what  I  ask?  When  has  the  hand  of 
Katepacomen  (his  Shawnee  name)  been  clean  when 
that  of  his  Indian  brother  was  bathed  in  blood?  Has 
Katepacomen  ever  spared  the  white  man's  scalp? 
Now  the  white  brother  of  Katepacomen  has  fallen  into 
the  hands  of  his  Indian  brothers,  and  they  wish  to  tor- 
ture him.  Can  I  stand  by  and  see  my  brother  eaten 
with  the  flames?  To  those  who  are  born  warriors  of 
the  Shawnees,  the  life  of  a  white  prisoner  is  given  for 
the  asking;  will  my  brothers  deny  so  little  a  thing  to 
the  brother  born  among  the  white  men,  who  has  chosen 
to  live  among  his  red  brothers?" 

This  was  spoken  in  the  Shawnee  tongue,  so  Kenton 
did  not  understand  a  word  of  it,  but,  when  the  renegade 


SIMON   KENTON,    WOODSMAN       87 

had  finished,  it  could  be  plainly  seen  that  the  red  men 
did  not  all  approve  of  the  ideas  which  he  expressed. 
"Ugh!"  said  one  chief.  "This  paleface  is  a  bad  man. 
Has  he  not  stolen  our  horses?  Has  he  not  tried  to  kill 
one  of  our  young  men?  Such  a  bad  man  can  never  be 
a  brother  to  us,  as  are  you,  0,  Katepacomen." 

"Ugh!  Ugh!"  said  another.  "Many  of  our  people 
have  come  a  long  way  to  see  the  paleface  killed.  We 
cannot  be  like  women  who  change  their  minds  every 
hour.  It  will  be  cruel  to  disappoint  our  people.  Let 
the  paleface  be  tortured!" 

Simon  Girty  listened  with  impatience  to  these 
remarks.  Then,  springing  to  his  feet,  he  said: 

"  Warriors,  let  the  war  club  be  again  passed  around, 
and  let  us  give  the  paleface  his  life.  Has  Katepacomen 
ever  spared  the  white  man's  scalp?  Has  he  ever  plead 
before  for  the  life  of  a  captive?  Never  before  has  he 
ever  asked  a  boon  of  his  red  brothers,  and  they  always 
grant  such  a  request  to  their  own  brothers.  If  the 
warriors  of  the  Shawnees  trust  in  the  good  faith  and 
love  of  Katepacomen,  let  them  give  him  the  life  of  his 
white  brother.  I  have  spoken." 

"How!  How!"  said  the  big  chief.  "Let  the  war 
club  be  passed." 

It  was  handed  around,  and  this  time  the  decision 
was  for  freedom. 

Thankful,  but  still  afraid,  Kenton  went  to  the  tent 
of  the  renegade,  who  immediately  gave  him  a  suit  of 
clothes,  as  his  had  been  torn  from  him  by  the  infuriated 
Shawnees.  He  was  fed,  warmed,  and  in  a  few  days 
felt  as  of  old.  The  renegade  had  made  good  his  promise. 


88  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

So  lived  the  plucky  pioneer  for  about  three  weeks, 
and  he  began  to  think  that  he  would  go  free.  But 
he  was  to  suffer  many  other  misfortunes  before  he 
would  again  see  his  own  people.  One  day  as  he  came 
from  Girty's  tent,  he  heard  a  Shawnee  warrior  making 
a  peculiar  whoop. 

"What  is  that?"  he  asked  of  the  renegade. 

"That  is  a  call  to  the  council-chamber,"  was  the 
answer,  "  and  I  fear  that  your  case  is  again  to  be  tried. 
Come,  we  must  go  there,  as  I  am  one  of  the  tribe." 

When  they  entered  the  dreaded  room,  the  savage 
who  had  been  whooping,  gave  his  hand  to  Simon  Girty, 
but  scowled  when  he  saw  Kenton  and  refused  to  clasp 
his  outstretched  fingers.  Kenton  felt  a  cold  chill 
creep  down  his  spine.  Many  chiefs  were  there.  They 
scowled  at  the  prisoner  and  refused  his  hand.  "Ugh!" 
said  one  to  him.  "This  time  Long  Knife,  the  horse 
stealer,  must  die.  Your  white  brother  cannot  save 
you.  You  must  feed  the  crows." 

But  Simon  Girty  made  an  impassioned  plea  for  his 
life,  to  which  the  redskins  listened  courteously,  and 
then  passed  around  the  war  club.  Almost  unani- 
mously it  was  decided  that  the  Long  Knife  should  meet 
with  death;  so,  seeing  that  he  could  not  save  his  brother 
scout,  the  renegade  came  up  to  him,  embraced  him, 
and  said  with  feeling:  "Well,  my  friend,  good-bye. 
I  have  tried  to  save  you,  but  I  cannot  do  so.  Good- 
bye." 

Immediately  a  burly  chief  seized  him  by  the  collar; 
he  was  bound  with  deer  thongs  and  given  to  a  guard 
of  scowling  red  men,  who  made  off  with  him,  after  first 


SIMON   KENTON,    WOODSMAN       89 

throwing  the  rope  around  his  neck.  They  rode  beside 
him  on  horseback,  while  he  trudged  along  on  foot,  en- 
deavoring to  keep  up  his  courage,  although  he  now  felt 
that  his  last  day  had  surely  come.  "I  can  still  smile 
though,"  said  Kenton  to  himself;  and  this  he  did,  in 
spite  of  his  predicament. 

Two  or  three  miles  beyond  Wapatomica,  and  a 
few  yards  from  the  trail,  sat  a  warrior  watching  his 
squaw  chopping  wood  for  the  evening  meal.  When 
he  saw  the  white  prisoner,  he  uttered  a  loud,  guttural 
exclamation.  "Ugh!  Ugh!"  said  he.  "Paleface  kill 
my  brother!  now  paleface  die,"  and,  seizing  an  axe,  he 
bounded  toward  the  young  Virginian.  Before  the 
guards  could  stop  him,  he  had  struck  the  defenseless 
young  man,  and  had  cut  a  deep  gash  in  his  shoulder- 
blade.  He  raised  his  arm  for  another  blow,  but  was 
overpowered  by  the  other  Indians,  who  said  to  him, 
"It  is  not  now  time  for  the  Long  Knife  to  die.  Only 
wait  and  you  shall  have  revenge." 

Almost  fainting  from  loss  of  blood,  the  pluckiest 
man  upon  the  frontier  staggered  onward,  and  soon 
entered  a  large  village  upon  the  headwaters  of  the 
Scioto  River.  The  party  halted  for  the  night,  and 
poor  Kenton  sank  upon  a  blanket  in  a  swoon.  When 
he  opened  his  eyes,  a  large  solemn-visaged  Indian  was 
standing  over  him,  gazing  at  his  bleeding  form  with 
an  eye  of  deep  compassion.  It  was  Logan,  that  great 
and  eloquent  leader  of  the  Mingoes,  whose  life  has 
been  sketched  in  "Famous  Indian  Chiefs."  The  great 
chieftain's  heart  was  touched  by  the  manly  beauty 
and  courage  of  the  young  Virginian.  Always  of  a 


90  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

compassionate  disposition,  he  was  moved  by  the  mis- 
fortunes of  the  luckless  captive,  and  his  words  bore 
full  witness  to  his  thoughts: 

"I  am  a  great  chief,"  said  he.  "You  are  to  go  to 
Sandusky,  where  they  speak  of  burning  you.  But 
you  will  not  be  burned,  for  I  will  send  two  runners  there 
who  will  speak  well  of  you.  What  Logan  commands 
is  seldom  disobeyed.  Be  of  good  cheer.  You  shall 
not  be  made  away  with.  I  have  spoken."  And,  so 
saying,  he  walked  solemnly  away. 

Kenton  was  much  cheered  by  this  piece  of  news. 
He  stumbled  into  Logan's  tepee,  and  remained  there 
quietly  throughout  the  evening.  In  the  morning 
the  two  runners  were  dispatched  to  Sandusky,  as  Logan 
had  promised,  for  he  was  a  man  of  the  greatest  truth 
and  honesty.  The  prisoner  did  not  again  see  the 
solemn  chieftain  until  he  was  about  to  leave  for  San- 
dusky, when  the  friendly  Indian  walked  up  to  him, 
gave  him  a  piece  of  bread,  and  said: 

"You  are  to  be  taken  to  Sandusky.  Logan  says 
good-bye,"  and  then  walked  away. 

When  the  little  party  arrived  at  Sandusky,  the 
prisoner's  high  hopes  were  again  dashed  to  the  ground, 
for  he  learned  from  his  guards  that  Logan's  intercession 
hi  his  behalf  had  been  in  vain.  "  You  are  to  be  burned 
tomorrow  morning,"  said  one  of  his  Shawnee  com- 
panions. "Pray  to  the  Great  Father,  for  nothing 
now  can  save  you."  Kenton  —  as  usual  —  smiled. 

As  he  stood  dejectedly  in  the  village  street,  a  French- 
man called  Captain  Drewyer,  who  was  employed  by 
the  English  as  Indian  agent,  came  in  view.  When  he 


SIMON    KENTON,    WOODSMAN      91 

saw  the  white  man,  his  face  changed  its  expression. 
"Voila,"  said  he.  "A  captive,  eh?  To  be  burned, 
eh?  We  will  see, —  we  will  see;"  and,  so  saying,  he  went 
into  the  Indians'  council  house. 

In  a  half  an  hour  he  came  out  smiling,  and  walking 
up  to  Kenton  said,  with  great  friendliness: 

"  You  are  to  go  with  me  to  Detroit.  I  haf  won  you 
from  the  bloodthirsty  redskin.  Tiens!  You  owe  me 
a  barrel  full  of  beaver-skins,  for  I  haf  saved  your  own 
skin.  Voila!  Be  cheerful!  You  shall  haf  a  dre-enk 
of  wine." 

In  a  few  moments  Drewyer  set  out  for  Detroit 
with  his  overjoyed  captive.  "At  last,"  thought  the 
half-famished  Kenton,  "I  am  free  from  the  shadow  of 
death.  At  last."  But  the  English  employee  was  most 
curious  to  know  the  strength  of  the  whites  in  far  distant 
Kentucky. 

"The  Americans  there,  my  boy.  How  many  are 
there?  Eh?  How  many  forts,  eh?  Are  they  as 
strong  as  the  English  in  Canada,  eh?" 

"I  am  only  a  private  in  the  army,"  said  Kenton. 
"  Being  so  low  in  rank,  my  range  of  vision  is  small. 
I  have  seen  little,  for  I  have  had  plenty  to  do  wherever 
I  have  been  stationed.  The  men  are  many,  but  how 
many  I  cannot  say."  The  Frenchman  saw  that  he 
could  get  little  information,  so  gave  up  his  interroga- 
tions. "  You  shall  haf  good  treatment,"  said  he.  "  You 
are  a  brave  fellow." 

The  two  travellers  arrived  at  Detroit  in  October, 
and  there  Kenton  remained  for  eight  months  in  fairly 
strict  confinement,  for  he  had  a  wide  range  by  day,  but 


92  FAMOUS    SCOUTS 

had  to  report  to  the  British  officer  every  morning  and 
evening.  It  took  him  some  time  to  get  over  the  treat- 
ment which  he  had  received  at  the  hands  of  the  red 
men;  for  he  had  been  made  to  run  the  gauntlet  eight 
times,  had  been  tied  to  the  stake  on  three  occasions, 
and  had  received  twenty  knife  thrusts,  besides  a  cut 
from  an  axe,  in  his  slender  body.  But  youth  quickly 
recuperates,  and  Kenton  soon  was  planning  to  escape 
to  his  friends  and  companions  in  far-away  Kentucky. 

At  Detroit  were  two  young  Kentuckians  who  had 
been  captured  from  Boone  and  Logan's  command  at 
the  battle  of  the  Blue  Licks.  "Oh  for  one  more  sight 
of  Old  Kentucky,"  said  they  to  the  young  frontiers- 
man. "If  it  only  were  not  so  far,  and  if  we  only  had 
some  guns." 

"I  can  get  those  from  the  redskins,"  Kenton  re- 
plied. "We  will  hide  them  in  the  woods,  and  some 
day,  when  all  is  propitious,  we  will  escape." 

Through  a  citizen  of  the  town,  some  ammunition 
was  secured  and  hidden  in  the  woods.  Three  rifles 
were  purchased  from  the  red  men  through  presents 
of  rum.  Finally,  when  all  was  quiet  one  afternoon, 
the  three  prisoners  met  in  the  woodland  and  turned 
toward  the  South.  They  plunged  onward  through 
the  wilderness,  and  in  one  month  were  in  Louisville, 
Kentucky.  At  last  the  hardy  Kenton  was  back  among 
his  own.  Pluck  and  courage  had  won,  and  a  year  of 
captivity,  torture  and  exile  had  been  brought  to  a 
glorious  close.  Three  cheers  for  the  nerve  of  Simon 
Kenton!  Hurrah  for  the  Virginian  boy  with  the  pluck 
of  ten! 


SIMON   KENTON,    WOODSMAN      93 

The  sturdy  pioneer  did  not  rest  upon  the  reputation 
which  he  had  acquired,  but  soon  again  entered  the 
frontier  service  as  a  guide  and  scout,  often  penetrating 
the  hostile  region  from  which  he  had  just  escaped. 
And  now  a  good  piece  of  news  reached  his  ears  from 
far  distant  Loudoun  County  in  Virginia.  Leitchman 
(the  fellow  whom  he  thought  that  he  had  killed)  was 
not  dead,  but  was  very  much  alive,  and  a  prosperous 
farmer.  "Henceforth  I  am  no  longer  Simon  Butler/' 
cried  the  refugee.  "I  am  once  more  Simon  Kenton, 
the  Virginian;  and  now  I  will  communicate  with  my 
family,  and  get  them  to  move  to  Kentucky, —  the  land 
of  the  blue-grass  and  the  sunshine."  This  he  did; 
his  parents  crossed  the  mountains  into  the  fertile  coun- 
try and  took  up  a  large  plantation  upon  the  frontier, 
where,  much  to  their  annoyance,  they  were  frequently 
attacked  by  prowling  bands  of  Shawnees.  But  Simon 
Kenton  and  a  band  of  other  pioneers  had  many  a  fight 
with  the  redskins.  At  last  they  were  driven  back 
across  the  Ohio  to  remain.  When  "Mad  Anthony" 
Wayne  marched  against  Little  Turtle*  and  fought  him 
at  Fallen  Timbers,  it  sealed  the  fate  of  the  red  man's 
supremacy  in  this  country.  Simon  Kenton  was  a 
major  in  Wayne's  command,  but  he  was  not  present 
at  the  great  fight,  —  much  to  his  regret.  Kentucky 
was  henceforth  a  land  of  whites;  the  redskins  had  been 
driven  from  that  "dark  and  bloody  ground"  which 
was  once  their  great  hunting  ground,  —  the  home  of 
the  elk,  the  bison,  the  beaver,  and  the  bear. 

Daniel   Boone   became   involved   in   troubles   over 

*See  description  in  "  Famous  Indian  Chiefs." 


94  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

his  land  in  later  years,  and  so  did  Simon  Kenton.  Both 
had  poor  and  illegal  title  to  great  tracts  of  territory 
in  Kentucky,  and  both,  to  escape  law  suits,  moved  into 
the  then  unsettled  State  of  Missouri,  across  the  turbid 
current  of  the  Mississippi.  Kenton's  lands  in  Ken- 
tucky were  forfeited  to  the  state  for  taxes,  while  he, 
hi  quiet  and  seclusion,  lived  near  the  little  town  of 
Urbana,  in  central  Missouri,  until  the  fighting  in  the 
War  of  1812,  between  Great  Britain  and  the  United 
States.  The  old  frontiersman's  blood  was  again  aroused 
at  this-time,  and,  joining  the  force  under  General  Shelby 
which  marched  towards  Detroit,  he  was  present  at  the 
great  battle  of  the  Thames,  which  settled  the  disputed 
western  boundaries  between  the  two  governments. 
The  redskins  were  no  longer  on  the  warpath,  and, 
strange  as  it  may  seem,  Simon  Kenton  moved  to  a 
cabin  near  the  old  Indian  town  of  Wapatomica, — the 
scene  of  his  earlier  persecutions  by  the  savages,  forty- 
two  years  before. 

Kenton  was  now  very  poor,  but  he  possessed  one 
sorry-looking  old  nag.  "  I  am  going  back  to  Kentucky," 
said  he  one  day,  "and  see  if  I  cannot  get  back  some  of 
my  land.  I  have  fought  for  my  State.  I  helped  to 
make  it  what  it  is.  The  people  should  do  something 
for  me  in  my  old  age.  If  I  know  the  warm  hearts  of 
the  Kentuckians,  they  will  not  let  me  starve  now  that 
I  am  poor  and  too  crippled  to  work." 

The  shabby  old  scout  stopped  at  the  house  of 
Major  Galloway,  at  Xenia,  Ohio,  upon  the  first  night 
of  his  journey.  When  his  fellow  Kentuckian  saw  his 
ragged  clothes  and  spavined  mare,  he  exclaimed: 


SIMON    KENTON,    WOODSMAN       95 

"Any  State  which  could  leave  a  famous  fighter 
like  yourself  to  starve  in  his  old  age  has  no  idea  of 
justice.  Simon  Kenton,  you  will  have  assistance  from 
our  people.  I  can  assure  you  of  that.  And,  if  they 
will  not  assist  you,  I  will." 

In  Louisville  a  friend  gave  him  a  suit  of  clothes 
and  a  hat.  Thus,  cleanly  dressed,  the  old  man  went 
to  the  State  capitol  and  here  was  greeted  with  loud 
acclaim  by  the  prominent  men  of  the  State.  "  It  was 
the  proudest  day  of  my  life,"  he  used  to  say  long  after- 
wards, "when  they  took  the  old  pioneer,  placed  him 
hi  the  speaker's  chair,  and  gave  three  cheers  for  the 
'pluckiest  man  on  the  old  frontier/" 

Yes,  pluck,  which  has  always  been  appreciated 
by  the  American  people,  was  warmly  appreciated  then. 
Simon  Kenton  had  his  lands  restored  to  him,  and  had 
a  pension  granted  him  by  the  fair  State  whose  early 
struggles  he  had  been  a  part  of.  Now,  with  a  sufficiency 
to  insure  an  old  age  of  no  actual  want,  the  aged  pioneer 
returned  to  his  little  cabin  upon  the  Mad  River  in  Ohio. 
Here  he  would  often  sit  before  the  threshold  of  his 
humble  abode,  and  in  the  long,  warm  days  of  summer, 
while  the  veery's  flute-like  notes  sounded  from  the 
dogwood  tree,  would  call  to  his  memory  those  thrilling 
scenes  through  which  he  had  passed  when  a  youth. 
He  had  camped,  trapped,  fought,  and  scouted  through 
a  great  wilderness  which  was  now  peopled  by  the  men 
of  his  own  race.  He  had  seen  the  gradual  whining  of 
the  Middle  West,  first  by  the  English,  then  by  the 
Americans.  He  had  witnessed  the  gradual  extinction 
of  the  red  men,  those  warriors  of  cruel  hearts  in  war- 


96  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

fare.  He  had  seen  the  first  flatboat  upon  the  Ohio 
River,  and  the  first  log  house  in  the  wild  regions  near 
that  bending  stream.  He  had  made  history. 

So  dreamed  the  old  frontiersman,  and  so  quietly 
ended  his  life.  In  1836,  at  the  ripe  age  of  eighty-one, 
the  hand  of  Death  touched  him  gently  upon  the  shoulder; 
and,  in  the  silence  of  the  forest  —  that  silence  which 
he  loved  so  well  —  his  friends  buried  the  body  of  the 
staunch  old  veteran  pioneer. 

If  you  admire  pluck,  admire  this  man.  If  you 
care  for  bravery,  here  is  a  person  who  possessed  it. 
And  the  lesson  of  his  life  is  a  good  one  for  young  men 
to  remember.  It  is:  Never  lose  your  courage,  no  mat- 
ter what  is  the  situation  in  which  you  find  yourself. 
Never  give  up.  You  do  not  know  when  your  luck  is 
going  to  change.  Keep  a  stiff  upper  lip,  and,  perhaps 
when  you  least  expect  it  in  a  trying  situation,  something 
will  happen  that  will  rescue  you.  Be  brave;  smile  in 
adversity;  and  in  the  end  you  will  win.  That  is  what 
saved  Simon  Kenton,  the  pluckiest  man  upon  the  Ohio 
frontier;  and  that  is  what  will  save  you.  Do  not  forget 
the  life  of  this  veteran  pioneer! 


CAPTAIN  SAMUEL  BRADY:  THE  GREAT- 
EST LONG-DISTANCE  JUMPER  OF 
AMERICAN  HISTORY 

AT  the  beginning  of  the  American  Revolution  a 
company  of  volunteer  riflemen  was  formed  in 
Western   Pennsylvania,   called  Captain  Low- 
den's  Company.    A  commission  was  offered  to  a  young 
fellow  called  Samuel  Brady,  who  was  known  to  be  an 
expert    rifle-shot    and    woodsman.     But    the    youth's 
father  objected.     "Let  my  son  first  learn  to  obey  me," 
said  he,  "and  when  he  has  learned  that  lesson,  he  will 
know  all  the  better  how  to  act  as  an  officer.    I  want 
obedience  at  home  before  obedience  in  camp." 

And  from  this  it  can  be  reckoned  that  young  Samuel 
Brady  was  a  pretty  skittish  young  blood,  and  did  not 
take  any  too  kindly  to  the  strong  rule  of  his  stern  old 
father.  But  this  did  not  affect  his  value  as  an  Indian 
fighter,  as  will  be  seen. 

Shortly  after  enlisting,  young  Brady  was  sent  to 
Boston  with  his  company,  and  took  part  in  the  siege 
of  this  city,  which  was  held  by  British  troops.  While 
sitting  upon  a  fence  one  day  with  his  captain,  a  cannon- 
ball  struck  just  beneath  them,  and  exploding,  hurled 
them  high  into  the  air.  Brady  lighted  upon  his  feet, 
but  his  superior  officer  struck  upon  his  head  and  was 
quite  dazed.  Brady  rushed  to  him,  picked  him  up, 
and  carried  him  to  the  shade  of  a  tree. 

97 


98  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

"Are  you  hurt,  sir?"  he  asked  with  much  solicitude. 

"No,"  replied  the  captain.  "But,  young  man,  as 
I  see  that  you  came  down  upon  your  feet,  instead  of 
upon  your  head,  it  means  that  you  are  a  fellow  who 
deserves  promotion.  I  think  that  I  must  raise  you  to 
a  lieutenant."  And  this  he  promptly  did, —  much 
to  the  joy  of  the  young  soldier. 

Lieutenant  Brady  fought  through  the  Revolu- 
tionary War,  and  so  distinguished  himself  at  the  battle 
of  Monmouth  —  that  fight  in  which  Washington  so 
severely  reprimanded  General  Lee  —  that  he  was  made 
a  captain  of  infantry.  This  was  in  June,  1778.  But 
while  the  Americans  and  British  struggled  for  posses- 
sion of  the  eastern  colonies,  the  red  men  attacked  those 
families  upon  the  frontier  which  could  be  easily  reached 
from  their  own  towns  and  settlements.  Then  Pitts- 
burg,  Pennsylvania,  was  on  the  border,  and  Brady's 
own  homestead  was  in  a  wild  and  wooded  district.  It 
was  attacked  one  day  by  a  roving  band  of  redskins; 
his  father  and  brother  were  killed;  and  while  Brady 
prepared  to  take  part  in  the  battle  of  Paoli,  he  was  met 
by  a  fellow-soldier  from  Pennsylvania  who  told  him  the 
sad  news.  Brady  listened  to  him  with  a  face  which 
exhibited  the  greatest  sorrow;  then,  raising  his  hand 
aloft,  he  said: 

"  From  this  time  on,  every  redskin  whom  I  meet  in 
the  West  shall  fall  before  my  rifle.  I  shall  have  re- 
venge a  thousand  times  over  for  the  lives  of  my  own 
people.  I  know  the  red  men.  They  are  treacherous 
dogs.  Henceforth  they  shall  feel  the  enmity  of  Samuel 
Brady,  as  they  have  never  before  felt  the  enmity  of 


CAPTAIN    SAMUEL   BRADY         99 

any  white  man."    The  soldiers  nodded  their  approval. 

History  records  nothing  about  this  famous  frontier 
fighter  for  some  time.  But  in  1780,  we  know  that 
this  fearless  fellow,  now  in  Pennsylvania,  was  sent  by 
the  commander  of  the  fort  at  Pittsburg  to  Sandusky, 
Ohio,  in  order  to  find  out  the  numbers  of  British  and 
Indians  at  this  stockade  and  fort.  It  was  a  journey 
of  several  hundred  miles,  and  it  was  one  of  danger,  for 
prowling  bands  of  red  men  hovered  between  the  strong- 
holds of  the  rival  governments.  Young  Brady  wel- 
comed the  opportunity  for  a  hazardous  trip;  and,  with 
several  rangers  and  four  Chickasaw  Indians  as  guides,  he 
set  out  early  in  May  in  the  direction  of  Lake  Erie.  All 
were  dressed  as  Indians,  and  made  their  way  through 
the  wood  with  the  greatest  care. 

Broadhead,  the  commander  at  Pittsburg,  had  given 
a  map  of  the  country  to  the  adventurous  soldier,  but 
it  was  not  at  all  correct.  The  food  supply  gave  out 
because  the  distance  to  be  traversed  was  far  greater 
than  it  was  considered  to  be  by  the  crude  map-maker 
who  had  sketched  out  the  wilderness  way.  So  the 
little  party  lived  on  fish,  which  were  in  abundance  in 
the  brooks  and  streams;  and  by  hiding  in  the  trees  during 
the  day,  and  travelling  only  at  night,  they  finally  neared 
the  goal  for  which  they  sought.  And '  now  the  four 
Chickasaw  guides  deserted. 

Nothing  daunted,  although  he  knew  that  they 
had  gone  over  to  the  enemy,  Brady  took  two  men 
and  crept  on  to  a  position  near  the  Indian  towns  and 
British  fort  at  Sandusky.  An  island  near  the  fortress 
was  covered  with  driftwood,  and  wading  out  to  this  at 


100  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

night,  Brady  and  one  companion  hid  themselves  be- 
hind a  pile  of  broken  branches.  At  daybreak  a  dense 
fog  hung  over  the  river  and  hid  the  Indian  village  from 
view,  but  at  eleven  o'clock  it  lifted,  and  before  their 
eager  eyes  lay  a  long  line  of  Indian  houses  and  a  strong 
log  fortress.  The  redskins  were  having  horse-races 
on  a  piece  of  flat  ground  nearby,  and  their  wild  yelping 
could  be  easily  heard  by  the  two  scouts,  who  drew  an 
accurate  picture  of  the  place  upon  a  piece  of  paper 
which  Brady  had  had  the  foresight  to  bring  along  with 
him. 

The  two  white  men  lay  in  the  driftwood  all  day, 
and  at  night  they  waded  through  the  river  and  joined 
their  companions.  They  turned  their  faces  homeward, 
and  by  travelling  only  at  night,  soon  had  put  a  respect- 
able distance  between  themselves  and  the  red  men  at 
Sandusky.  But  their  ammunition  gave  out  when  the 
Big  Beaver  River  was  reached;  so,  with  his  last  piece  of 
lead  in  his  flintlock,  Brady  left  his  companions  in  order 
to  look  for  game.  He  was  desperately  in  need  of  fresh 
meat. 

He  had  not  far  to  look,  for  as  he  crossed  a  clearing 
within  rifle  range  of  his  party,  a  deer  jumped  from 
its  bed  among  some  boughs  and  ferns,  and  stood 
broadside  on,  offering  an  excellent  shot.  The  ranger 
fired,  but  his  flintlock  refused  to  go  off.  The  deer 
bounded  away,  and,  after  cleaning  the  priming-pan, 
the  frontiersman  started  in  pursuit.  He  had  gone  but 
a  few  feet  when  he  heard  a  noise,  and,  looking  in  front 
of  him,  saw  an  Indian  buck,  mounted  upon  a  pony, 
and  holding  a  child  in  front  of  him.  The  child's  mother 


CAPTAIN    SAMUEL   BRADY        101 

was  behind  upon  the  horse's  withers,  and  several  other 
warriors  followed. 

The  fierce  passion  which  burned  in  Brady's  heart 
against  all  redskins  now  took  possession  of  his  common 
sense.  Inspired  by  an  ungovernable  desire  to  put  an 
end  to  the  red  warrior,  he  aimed  at  him,  pulled  the 
trigger,  and  the  chief  fell  from  the  back  of  the  horse. 
Then,  shouting  loudly,  as  if  an  army  were  behind  his 
back,  "Come  on,  men!  Stampede  the  redskins!"  he 
rushed  to  the  side  of  the  fallen  warrior  and  seized  his 
powder  horn.  As  he  reached  him,  the  Indian  woman 
thought  him  one  of  her  own  race,  for  he  was  dressed  like 
a  red  man,  and  his  face  was  darkened  by  long  exposure 
to  the  elements. . 

"Why  did  you  shoot  your  red  brother?"  said  she. 
"He  did  you  no  harm." 

As  she  spoke,  Brady  recognized  her,  and  cried  out, 
"Jenny  Stupes!  I  am  Captain  Samuel  Brady.  Follow 
me  instantly,  and  I  will  save  both  you  and  your  child 
from  my  hundred  followers  who  are  just  about  to  attack." 

He  dashed  into  the  brush,  just  as  the  Indians  fired 
a  volley  at  him.  The  mother  followed  and,  fearing 
an  ambuscade  from  the  whites,  the  redskins  held  off; 
for  they  heard  what  the  crafty  Brady  had  said  regard- 
ing his  hundred  followers. 

Next  morning  Brady  reached  Fort  Mclntosh  with 
the  Indian  woman  and  her  child.  His  men  were  there 
waiting  for  him.  They  had  heard  his  cry  to  the  red 
men  in  the  forest,  but,  knowing  that  they  possessed 
no  powder  and  ball,  had  feared  to  join  him.  Brady's 
nerve  had  saved  his  scalp,  and  the  news  which  he  brought 


102  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

to  General  Broadhead  at  Pittsburg,  with  the  plans  of 
Sandusky,  materially  aided  in  the  successful  attack 
upon  the  British  and  Indians  by  the  Americans  some 
months  later.  Bald  Eagle,  a  great  war  chief  of  the 
Shawnees,  was  slain,  and  the  cornfields  of  those  redskins 
who  were  friendly  to  the  English  cause  were  laid  waste. 

But  Indian  depredations  still  continued,  and  so 
successful  was  Captain  Brady  in  capturing,  killing,  and 
fighting  the  red  men,  that  many  of  the  officers  at  Pitts- 
burg  became  furiously  jealous  of  the  man.  Finally, 
several  of  them  went  to  General  Broadhead  and  re- 
quested him  to  allow  them  to  make  an  attack  upon  the 
redskins,  but  to  leave  Brady  behind.  As  a  murderous 
foray  had  just  been  made  by  the  red  men  upon  Sewick- 
ley,  these  officers  and  many  men  were  allowed  to  march 
out  in  order  to  revenge  the  affair,  and  Brady  was  given 
no  part  in  the  expedition. 

When  the  great  Indian  fighter  thought  the  matter 
over,  he  decided  that  he  would  like  to  make  a  little  scout 
in  the  direction  of  the  enemies  of  the  frontier.  Broad- 
head,  at  first,  would  not  allow  him  to  leave  the  fort, 
but  finally  gave  him  five  rangers  and  one  "pet"  Indian 
as  a  guide,  and  cautioned  him  not  to  interfere  in  any 
manner  with  the  depredations  of  the  other  party. 
Happy  and  smiling,  Captain  Brady  set  out  upon  his 
mission  of  revenge. 

The  large  party  had  followed  directly  upon  the 
Indian  trail,  but  Brady  made  a  long  detour  through  the 
forest,  determined  to  head  off  the  red  marauders  at 
a  distance  from  the  other  party.  The  seven  well- 
trained  woodsmen  moved  with  speed,  and  upon  the 


CAPTAIN   SAMUEL   BRADY        103 

fourth  day  from  Pittsburg,  struck  the  fresh  trail  of  the 
Indian  party.  The  redskins  had  canoes,  were  paddling 
up  the  river  by  day,  and  were  resting  by  night.  Luckily 
they  had  a  stolen  horse  with  them  which  had  to  be  led 
along  the  bank,  and  he  made  such  a  plain  trail  that  the 
enemy  could  be  easily  followed.  No  signs  were  seen 
of  the  other  party  of  Americans  from  the  fort. 

The  seven  woodsmen  crept  silently  upon  the  Indian 
camp  one  evening,  and  waited  in  the  darkness  for  day 
to  dawn.  At  daybreak  the  redskins  awoke;  and  stand- 
ing about  the  fire,  recalled  their  triumphs,  the  injury 
inflicted  upon  their  enemies,  the  scalps  taken  at  Sewick- 
ley,  and  the  booty  which  they  had  carried  off.  "How! 
How!"  spoke  a  chief.  "We  are  great  warriors!  We 
make  the  palefaces  groan !  Ugh !  Ugh !" 

As  he  ceased  speaking,  a  rifle  spoke  in  the  half  light. 
The  red  man  reeled,  and  fell  across  the  burning  logs  of 
the  fire.  Crash!  A  volley  from  six  rifles  poured  into 
the  circle,  and  above  the  din  could  be  heard  the  wild 
war-whoop  which  Captain  Brady  always  used  in  an 
Indian  fight. 

"The  Great  Snake  is  here,"  cried  the  redskins. 
"We  must  flee  for  our  lives."  And  they  stampeded. 

One  red  man,  who  was  badly  wounded,  was  followed 
by  the  traces  of  blood  upon  the  ground.  The  "pet" 
Indian  gave  the  cry  of  a  young  wolf;  the  wounded  man 
paused  and  answered,  —  for  this  was  the  cry  of  a  friend 
of  the  Shawnees  and  other  allied  tribes.  He  stopped, 
but  seeing  Brady,  turned  and  ran  like  a  deer,  in  spite 
of  his  wound.  The  great  Indian  fighter  fired,  and 
with  a  wild  yell  the  redskin  fell  prostrate  in  the  forest, 


104  FAMOUS    SCOUTS 

but  so  busy  was  Brady  that  he  did  not  see  the  effect 
of  his  shot.  Three  weeks  later,  when  again  near  this 
place,  he  was  attracted  by  a  great  crowd  of  ravens, 
and  going  to  the  tree  where  they  had  collected  there 
found  the  remains  of  the  red  man  whom  he  had  dropped 
when  running,  at  a  distance  of  over  one  hundred  yards. 

Seizing  the  horse  and  plunder  of  the  red  invaders, 
the  captain  and  his  followers  returned  to  Pittsburg, 
where  they  found  the  other  soldiers.  They  had  followed 
the  Indian  band  until  the  red  men  took  to  their  canoes, 
and  had  then  turned  back.  Imagine  their  jealousy 
and  chagrin  when  they  saw  what  the  seven  skilled 
woodsmen  had  accomplished.  "That  Brady  is  a  true 
Indian  fighter,"  said  they.  "He  is  a  born  woodsman. 
We  cannot  compete  with  this  man.  He  is  a  genius." 

But  matters  were  not  always  successful  with  the 
famous  soldier.  One  day  he  was  out  alone  upon  a 
scout,  when  a  dozen  redskins  surrounded  him.  He 
ran  for  his  life,  but  unfortunately  a  long  vine  caught 
his  leg,  tripping  him  up,  so  that  he  fell  sprawling  upon 
the  earth.  He  was  immediately  pounced  upon,  dis- 
armed, bound  with  deer  thongs,  and  carried  in  triumph 
to  the  Indian  camp,  where  wild  yelps  of  joy  greeted  the 
entry  of  the  fortunate  red  huntsmen.  "Ow!  Ow!" 
screeched  the  red  men.  "Ow!  Ow!  The  Big  Snake 
has  been  captured.  The  Big  Snake  shall  be  tortured. 
At  last  we  shall  revenge  the  death  of  our  many  brothers. 
Ow!  Ow!" 

Joy  shone  in  the  eyes  of  all  the  red  men,  women, 
and  children  as  they  danced  around  their  dreaded 
enemy.  For  years  he  had  been  the  terror  of  the  frontier; 


CAPTAIN    SAMUEL   BRADY        105 

so  much  so,  that  when  mothers  wished  to  quiet  their 
babes  they  would  tell  them  that  Brady,  the  Big  Snake, 
was  abroad  and  would  catch  them.  A  large  fire  was 
lighted  for  torture.  With  yells,  threats,  curses,  and 
abuse,  the  horde  of  redskins  danced  about  the  defense- 
less man,  striking  him  with  firebrands  and  knives; 
yelling  their  defiance  in  his  ears.  In  two  lines  they 
formed  to  make  him  run  the  gauntlet,  while  additional 
wood  was  thrown  upon  the  fire  in  order  to  make  it 
hotter. 

Finally  Brady  was  unbound  and  told  to  run  be- 
tween two  lines  of  savages,  many  of  whom  had  knives, 
so  that  his  quick  eye  perceived  it  would  be  impossible 
for  him  to  come  through  alive.  As  the  last  thong 
was  removed,  the  head  chief's  wife  came  near,  a  babe 
in  her  arms.  Quick  as  a  flash,  Brady  seized  the  infant 
and  hurled  it  into  the  fire.  With  a  wild  yell  of  horror, 
most  of  the  redskins  leaped  forward  to  rescue  it,  and, 
with  a  mighty  spring  the  well-named  Big  Snake  leaped 
to  freedom.  A  dozen  bounds  brought  him  to  the  edge 
of  the  wood;  a  few  more  and  he  was  inside  the  pro- 
tecting tangle;  then,  running  like  a  deer,  he  soon  out- 
distanced his  pursuers.  Nerve  and  quick  action  had 
again  saved  his  life.  The  Big  Snake  was  free. 

Near  Beaver,  Pennsylvania,  is  a  small,  round  hillock 
called  "Brady's  Hill."  This  commemorates  a  stirring 
incident  in  the  life  of  this  extraordinary  woodland 
soldier,  which  well  deserves  to  remain  in  history.  Fort 
Mclntosh  formerly  stood  near  this  town,  and  from  this 
Captain  Brady  set  out  with  several  men  for  a  raid 
upon  the  hostile  settlements  at  Sandusky.  The  raid 


106  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

was  successful  at  first,  but  finally  the  little  party  was 
pursued  by  a  great  number  of  redskins,  who  killed  all 
of  the  rangers  but  Brady.  Hot  was  the  chase,  and  the 
frontiersman,  as  usual,  kept  well  away  from  his  pur- 
suers, for  he  was  very  fleet  of  foot.  But  they  gained 
upon  him;  some  even  got  ahead  and  threatened  to 
cut  off  his  line  of  retreat.  He  became  aware  of  this 
just  as  he  reached  the  top  of  the  little  hillock  which 
has  received  his  name. 

Before  the  fleeing  frontiersman  lay  a  tall  tree, 
recently  prostrated  by  a  severe  storm.  The  leaves 
were  thick  upon  the  branches, —  thick  enough,  in  fact, 
to  hide  among.  Immediately  he  decided  to  crouch 
down  hi  their  midst. 

First,  however,  the  skilled  woodsman  decided  upon 
a  ruse  which  was  common  among  men  of  the  forest. 
Walking  up  to  the  tree,  he  moved  backward  in  his 
own  footprints  for  the  space  of  a  few  hundred  yards, 
then  forward  again  to  the  tree  trunk,  in  his  own  tracks, 
in  order  to  make  his  trail  very  plain  to  the  eyes  of  the 
red  men.  He  then  hid  in  the  thick,  leafy  tangle  of 
branches  and  awaited  developments.  Three  redskins 
soon  appeared,  carefully  following  his  trail.  They 
came  to  the  tree,  found  that  it  stopped  here,  and  that 
no  footprints  led  away.  At  a  loss  to  know  what  was 
the  meaning  of  this,  they  seated  themselves  upon  the 
tree  trunk  in  order  to  discuss  the  matter.  They  were 
close  together,  and  this  is  exactly  what  Brady  had 
wished  for. 

Captain  Brady  peered  through  the  leaves,  took  a 
deliberate  aim  at  the  nearest  red  man,  and  pulled  the 


CAPTAIN   SAMUEL   BRADY        107 

trigger.  At  the  crack  of  the  rifle,  one  fell  dead,  while 
the  other  two  also  sank  to  the  ground,  sorely  wounded. 
In  an  instant  Brady  was  upon  them  with  clubbed  flint- 
lock, and  in  less  time  than  one  can  tell  it,  the  two  red 
men  lay  dead.  Uttering  his  peculiar  yell,  the  success- 
ful strategist  turned  towards  the  fort,  and  before  night 
fell  was  safe  inside  its  protecting  walls. 

Another  place  nearby  is  still  called  Brady's  Run. 
This  is  a  small  stream  issuing  from  a  crystal  spring 
called  Bloody  Spring, — although  this  is  due  to  its 
past  history  and  not  to  its  present  condition;  for  no- 
where is  a  spring  so  clear,  so  cool,  and  inviting. 

Not  long  after  the  escapade  at  the  fallen  tree,  a 
strong  body  of  roving  red  men  made  an  attack  upon 
the  settlements  near  Fort  Mclntosh,  and,  although 
they  took  no  scalps,  they  burned  a  number  of  houses 
and  captured  two  women  and  several  children.  Re- 
treating towards  their  own  settlements,  they  camped 
near  a  crystal  spring,  and,  tying  their  victims,  settled 
around  them  for  a  night  of  peaceful  slumber.  The 
whippoorwills  called  to  each  other  in  the  dusk,  as  the 
Indian  camp  became  quiet;  and,  lulled  by  the  soft 
breeze  in  the  leafy  branches,  the  red  sentinel  nodded 
quietly,  while  the  ruddy  glow  of  the  embers  lighted 
the  bodies  of  slumbering  whites  and  dusky  conquerors. 
A  branch  snapped  and  the  red  man  roused  himself, 
but  only  the  chirring  of  crickets  came  to  his  ear,  and 
the  plaintive  call  of  the  whippoorwill,  far  off  in  the 
hemlock  forest.  Throwing  a  dead  branch  upon  the  fire 
the  watchman  settled  himself  upon  his  blanket  with 
a  grunt  of  satisfaction. 


108  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

"Ugh!"  he  muttered.  "Heap  quiet.  I  no  fear.  I 
go  sleep." 

In  a  few  moments  his  head  fell  upon  his  breast, 
and  deep  breaths  showed  that  he  had  lost  consciousness. 
Immediately  a  twig  snapped.  Another  and  another 
cracked  loudly.  Then,  with  a  bound,  four  dark  figures 
leaped  from  the  woodland  into  the  fire's  glow.  Thud! 
A  tomahawk  was  buried  in  the  brain  of  the  nodding 
sentinel.  Thud!  Another  hatchet  felled  a  second  war- 
rior; and,  as  the  redskins  roused  to  fight,  the  shrill, 
awful  wail  of  Samuel  Brady  welled  above  the  silence 
of  the  forest.  The  Big  Snake  was  among  them. 

In  a  few  moments  the  last  Indian  had  been  dis- 
patched. Four  men  had  killed  over  a  dozen,  and,  as 
daylight  broke,  Brady  with  his  faithful  followers  car- 
ried the  women  and  children  back  to  their  own  people. 
But  the  spring  was  dyed  red  with  the  blood  of  the  rod- 
skins,  so  that  to  this  day  it  has  been  known  as  the 
Bloody  Spring. 

Now  we  come  to  the  most  extraordinary  event  in 
his  career,  an  event  which  —  like  the  famous  ride  of 
Israel  Putnam  —  shall  live  forever  in  the  annals  of 
frontier  history  in  America.  This  is  his  famous  leap, 
—  a  leap  which,  had  he  been  a  college  athlete,  would 
have  won  him  a  silver  cup,  a  championship,  and  a  long 
notice  in  the  newspapers.  It  shows  what  a  man  of 
agility  and  quickness  he  was,  and  speaks  worlds  for 
his  great  nerve  and  courage. 

With  his  usual  daring,  Captain  Brady,  with  a  small 
party,  had  penetrated  the  wilderness  near  the  Indian 
towns  at  Sandusky,  when  his  party  was  severely  at- 


CAPTAIN   SAMUEL   BRADY        109 

tacked.  In  the  retreat  Brady  became  separated  from 
the  rest  of  his  men,  and  headed  for  Fort  Mclntosh. 
Most  of  his  twenty  followers  were  captured  and  killed 
near  a  small  lake  in  what  is  now  called  Portage  County 
in  Ohio;  but  the  Big  Snake,  as  usual,  got  away. 

The  Indians,  realizing  who  was  ahead  of  them, 
hotly  pursued  the  fleeing  scout.  For  days  they  chased 
him,  until  he  reached  the  side  of  the  Cuyahoga  River, 
which  flows  into  Lake  Erie  near  Cleveland,  Ohio;  but 
runs  far  into  the  State.  Brady  found  himself  surrounded, 
and  as  he  ran  towards  the  river,  which  here  drops  through 
a  deep  gorge,  the  red  men  (thinking  that  they  had  him) 
made  wild  yells  of  delight,  and  tauntingly  cried  after 
him,  "  Big  Snake,  we  got  you.  Good-bye  to  Big  Snake. 
His  scalp  shall  hang  in  our  wigwams.  Good-bye." 

As  the  scout  looked  before  him,  he  saw  a  yawning 
chasm  of  between  twenty-five  and  twenty-seven  feet. 
It  did  not  take  him  long  to  make  up  his  mind  what  he 
was  to  do.  Summoning  all  of  his  strength,  after  throw- 
ing away  his  gun,  he  made  one  dash  for  the  bank,  and 
leaping  far  out,  spun  through  the  dizzy  space.  The 
Indians  stopped  in  wonder  and  amazement  as  the 
courageous  frontiersman  struck  the  other  bank,  seized 
firm  hold  of  some  bushes,  and  gradually  dragged  him- 
self upon  the  firm  soil.  "Hah!"  he  yelled  back  at  his 
pursuers.  "My  scalp  won't  hang  in  your  wigwams 
to  night!"  And  then  he  let  forth  that  well-known 
howl  with  which  the  redskins  were  so  well  acquainted. 
It  was  part  human,  part  inhuman;  a  cross  between 
the  wail  of  a  panther  and  the  scream  of  a  loon. 

Furious  with  anger  to  see  the  escape  of  their  foe, 


110  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

the  redskins  fired  at  the  disappearing  fugitive.  One 
bullet  struck  him  in  the  leg.  In  spite  of  the  wound, 
Brady  made  off  towards  the  small  lake,  which  now 
bears  his  name;  while  the  red  men  ran  below  the  gorge, 
crossing  the  stream  at  the  Standing  Stone,  where  the 
banks  of  the  Cuyahoga  are  gently  sloping.  Seeing 
that  they  were  gaining  upon  him,  the  ranger  plunged 
into  the  water,  waded  out  to  a  clump  of  water-lilies, 
and  cutting  one  with  his  knife,  inserted  the  long  stem 
in  his  mouth.  Then,  like  a  muskrat,  he  slowly  sub- 
merged himself,  breathing  through  this  tube.  The 
lily-pads  were  all  around  him,  and  he  was  most  effect- 
ively concealed. 

The  redskins  easily  followed  his  trail  to  the  edge 
of  the  lake,  for  his  wound  had  bled  profusely.  They 
searched  the  shores  for  his  track.  He  had  gone  in  but 
had  not  come  out  again.  "Ugh!  Ugh!"  said  one. 
"The  Big  Snake  weak  from  his  wound.  He  go  in  big 
water.  He  drowned  there.  He  know  we  kUl  him  if 
we  catch  him."  In  spite  of  this,  they  looked  for  him 
all  day,  and  at  last  returned  to  the  place  where  he  had 
leaped  the  chasm,  in  order  to  make  a  close  inspection 
of  it.  When  night  fell,  Brady  slowly  emerged  from 
the  water,  and  made  his  way  to  the  settlement  at  Fort 
Mclntosh.  He  was  always  very  deaf  thereafter,  due 
to  his  long  immersion  in  the  cold  waters  of  Brady's 
Lake. 

Meanwhile  the  redskins  had  made  up  their  minds 
that  their  fugitive  was  protected  by  the  Great  Spirit. 
"He  no  man.  He  no  jump  across  the  river.  He  wild 
turkey.  He  fly,"  said  they,  as  they  looked  at  the 


CAPTAIN   SAMUEL   BRADY        111 

chasm,  certain  that  not  one  of  them  could  leap  across 
it.  And  so  certain  were  they  of  the  charm  which  hung 
over  the  Big  Snake,  that  they  carved  upon  the  rock 
to  which  he  had  leaped  the  rude  picture  of  the  foot  of 
a  wild  turkey.  This  remained  as  they  had  left  it, 
until  1856,  when  Judge  Moses  Hampton,  of  Pittsburg, 
cut  it  out  and  removed  it  to  his  own  home. 

The  distance  of  this  famous  jump  has  been  measured 
several  times.  The  measurements  vary  from  twenty- 
five  to  twenty-seven  and  a  half  feet.  It  is  thirty  feet 
from  the  cliff  to  the  clear  waters  of  the  Cuyahoga  below; 
so  if  Brady  had  slipped  and  fallen,  he  would  have  been 
badly  bruised,  and  no  doubt  would  have  had  a  broken 
leg.  The  record  for  the  broad  jump  in  American  field 
games  is  about  twenty-four  feet,  six  and  one-half  inches. 
The  world's  record  is  twenty-four  feet,  seven  and  one 
quarter  inches.  You  therefore  see  that  this  frontier 
fighter  was  an  athlete  of  no  mean  merit,  and,  stimu- 
lated by  a  band  of  hostile  red  men  in  his  rear,  jumped  a 
distance  which  has  never  been  equalled  in  athletic  con- 
tests. Long  may  his  memory  live  among  the  sport- 
loving  people  who  now  exist  and  thrive  in  the  country 
which  he  helped  to  capture  from  the  red  men. 

The  gallant  captain  never  fully  recovered  from  this 
affair.  The  bullet  wound  which  he  had  received  in 
the  leg  lamed  him  for  life,  and,  although  a  comparatively 
young  man  when  this  celebrated  flight  occurred,  he 
looked  like  a  man  well  advanced  in  years.  Rough  life 
and  exposure  to  the  weather  had  done  their  work. 
We  know  that  he  was  married  to  a  Miss  Drusilla  Swear- 
ington,  the  daughter  of  an  officer  in  General  Morgan's 


112  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

rifle-corps, —  and  the  lady  must  have  had  much  forti- 
tude in  order  to  endure  the  anxiety  which  her  hus- 
band's frequent  engagements  and  skirmishes  must 
have  caused  her.  Two  sons  were  born  to  them,  when 
living  in  West  Liberty,  West  Virginia;  and  here  the 
bold  and  intrepid  Indian  fighter  died,  about  the  year 
1800, —  although  history  has  given  us  no  record  of  the 
exact  date. 

May  the  remembrance  of  this  famous  frontiersman 
be  kept  green,  for  his  courage  and  bravery  were  of  the 
greatest.  If  the  people  of  America  continue  to  produce 
men  of  such  a  mold,  the  volunteer  army  will  never  be 
lacking  for  material  in  time  of  war,  or  for  athletes  to 
win  upon  the  cinder-path  and  tan-bark  in  time  of  peace. 


THE  TWO  ATHLETIC  POES,  AND  MAJOR 

SAM  McCULLOCH,  THE  DESPERATE 

RIDER  OF  WEST  VIRGINIA 

MANY  men  have  left  records  of  daring,  who  lived 
at  the  time  of  Daniel  Boone;in  fact  it  is  dif- 
ficult to  pick  and  choose  among  the  lesser 
lights  who  were  conspicuous  upon  the  frontier.  The 
Kentuckians,  Virginians,  and  Pennsylvanians  have 
many  records  of  their  "mighty  hunters,"  and  among 
these  none  had  a  more  thrilling  experience  with  the 
red  men  than  the  brothers  Adam  and  Andrew  Poe, 
who  resided  in  Washington  County,  Pennsylvania. 
Both  were  able-bodied  pioneers,  and  both  were  skilled 
in  trapping,  shooting,  and  finding  their  way  in  the 
dense  woodland. 

The  country  near  the  farms  of  these  two  brothers 
was  constantly  raided  by  unfriendly  Wyandots,  who 
burned  and  scalped  with  a  ruthless  hand.  Finally 
they  murdered  some  peaceful  settlers  within  a  mile 
of  these  two  pioneers  and  carried  off  an  old  man  into 
captivity.  This  was  more  than  such  virile  frontiers- 
men could  stand  and,  riding  about  the  neighborhood, 
Adam  Poe  soon  collected  a  force  of  twelve  frontiers- 
men who,  mounted  upon  stout  horses,  soon  set  out  to 
follow  the  trail  of  the  marauders. 

The  foot-prints  of  the  redskins  could  be  easily  fol- 
lowed, as  there  had  been  a  heavy  rain,  and  the  posse 

113 


114  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

had  gone  only  about  ten  miles  when  it  became  evident 
that  the  Indians  were  directly  in  front  of  them. 

"Be  quiet,  men,"  cried  Andrew  Poe,  "for  now  we 
are  near  the  marauders  and  must  use  every  precaution 
before  we  approach  them.  If  they  know  that  we  are 
here  they  will  undoubtedly  kill  the  prisoner." 

In  spite  of  the  warning  the  pioneers  continued  to 
make  a  loud  noise,  so,  leaving  them,  stout  Andrew 
crept  towards  the  bank  of  the  river  where  he  heard  the 
red  men  making  some  disturbance  as  they  disembarked 
from  their  canoes.  Cocking  his  flintlock  —  for  all 
rifles  in  those  days  were  muzzle-loading  pieces  —  he 
moved  towards  the  water's  edge,  and  as  he  peered  over 
a  clump  of  brush,  he  saw  several  birch-bark  canoes 
lying  before  him.  No  red  men  were  in  view.  Worm- 
ing his  way  along,  he  soon  approached  the  river,  when 
suddenly  —  as  he  arose  from  the  bushes  —  two  Wyan- 
dot  warriors  stood  before  him.  One  was  a  small,  wiry 
red  man,  who  had  a  gun  in  his  hand,  fully  cocked. 
The  other  was  a  man  of  gigantic  size ;  far  larger,  in  fact, 
than  Poe  himself.  It  was  Big  Foot,  a  celebrated 
Wyandot  chieftain  and  terror  of  the  border.  He,  too, 
was  armed  with  a  flintlock. 

Poe  determined  immediately  what  to  do.  To  re- 
treat was  impossible.  So,  aiming  at  the  large  red- 
skin, the  nervy  pioneer  pulled  the  trigger.  The  big 
chief  was  looking  down  the  river  at  the  rest  of  the 
whites  who  had  just  reached  the  edge,  so  did  not  see 
the  stouirhearted  pioneer.  The  rifle  missed  fire.  Poe 
dodged  into  the  thick  rushes,  and,  as  he  lay  there, 
he  heard  the  larger  party  of  whites  retake  the  prisoner 


THE   TWO   ATHLETIC   POES       115 

from  the  rest  of  the  Indians,  down  stream.  He  again 
primed  his  rifle,  crept  to  the  edge  of  the  bank,  and 
pointed  it  at  the  big  redskin.  He  pulled,  but  it  re- 
fused to  go  off  for  a  second  time.  And  now  the  two 
warriors  saw  him.  To  lie  still  was  useless,  so  dropping 
his  rifle  Poe  sprang  upon  the  redskins.  They  wheeled 
—  when  his  gun  snapped  —  but  so  sudden  was  his 
onrush  that  they  had  no  time  to  raise  their  own  flint- 
locks before  he  was  upon  them.  Poe  caught  each  by 
the  neck  and,  as  he  was  a  powerful  man,  threw  both 
to  the  ground. 

The  red  men  lost  their  guns  as  they  fell,  for  they 
were  completely  surprised.  Fortunately  for  Poe  their 
other  arms  were  in  the  canoes,  and  as  Big  Foot  was 
beneath  stout  Andrew,  and  the  other  Indian  a  bit  to 
his  right,  for  an  instant  the  white  man  had  the  ad- 
vantage. So  busy  was  he  with  his  hands  that  he  could 
not  reach  his  knife  at  his  belt.  He  made  several  efforts 
to  get  it,  but  Big  Foot  caught  his  hand  and  held  it  in 
an  iron  grip,  while  he  gave  directions  to  his  companion 
in  his  own  tongue.  Suddenly  the  crafty  red  man  re- 
laxed his  grasp  and  jerked  Poe's  hand  as  it  was  upon 
his  knife  belt.  The  knife  flew  out  of  his  fingers  and 
struck  the  ground. 

As  this  occurred,  the  small  red  man  broke  loose 
and  ran  to  the  canoes,  returning  in  an  instant  with  a 
long  tomahawk.  While  Big  Foot  held  the  white  man, 
the  little  Indian  took  aim  and  drove  at  his  head.  But, 
with  one  swift  kick,  Andrew  Poe  struck  his  arm,  and 
the  weapon  spun  from  it  into  the  river.  Big  Foot  let 
forth  a  furious  yell  of  disappointment. 


116  FAMOUS    SCOUTS 

In  a  second  the  thin  red  man  returned  to  the  canoe 
for  another  weapon  and,  seizing  a  second  tomahawk, 
once  more  rushed  to  the  attack.  He  made  two  feints 
in  order  to  draw  Poe's  attention  from  Big  Foot,  and  then 
with  a  sudden,  swift  lunge,  drove  the  weapon  straight 
for  his  head.  Poe  threw  up  his  arm,  received  the  blow 
upon  his  right  wrist,  and  the  tomahawk  spun  away 
in  the  air. 

The  Indian  was  after  it  in  a  jiffy.  He  picked  it 
up  and  again  advanced  to  the  attack.  He  was  dancing 
about  the  struggling  men,  looking  for  an  opportunity 
to  deal  a  death  blow,  when  Poe  with  a  sudden  jerk 
wrenched  himself  loose  from  Big  Foot,  seized  one  of 
the  guns,  and  shot  the  red  man  dead.  Why  had  not 
the  little  Indian  done  the  same  to  him,  you  ask?  Be- 
cause he  feared  in  shooting  Poe  he  would  also  shoot 
his  friend  and,  believing  that  he  had  a  sure  thing, 
preferred  to  deal  the  death  blow  with  a  tomahawk. 

The  blood  was  flowing  freely  from  the  wound  in 
Andrew's  wrist,  and,  as  the  little  redskin  dropped, 
Big  Foot  seized  him  by  the  shoulder  and  right  leg. 
Poe  grabbed  him  by  the  neck  and,  locked  in  this  em- 
brace, they  both  fell  into  the  river  together.  Here 
each  had  the  same  thing  in  mind,  —  to  drown  the  other. 
They  struggled  fiercely.  Farther  and  farther  into  the 
stream  they  went,  now  one  on  top,  now  the  other,  until 
they  were  thirty  yards  from  the  bank.  Poe  at  last 
got  on  top  and,  seizing  the  tuft  of  hair  on  Big  Foot's 
head,  kept  him  under  water  until  he  thought  that  he 
had  drowned  him. 

Now  thoroughly  exhausted  with  his   efforts,   and 


THE   TWO   ATHLETIC   POES       117 

with  the  loss  of  blood,  he  released  his  iron  grasp,  and 
swam  with  his  left  arm  to  shore.  Big  Foot  was  not 
dead.  He  was  like  an  opossum  and  had  been  "play- 
ing possum."  Immediately  he  too  struck  out  for  the 
bank  and,  with  his  eye  upon  the  second  rifle,  swam 
energetically  to  reach  it  first.  Poe's  injured  arm  handi- 
capped him  and  Big  Foot  first  reached  the  shore.  With 
a  yelp  of  defiance  he  seized  the  gun  and  attempted  to 
cock  it.  As  luck  would  have  it,  he  drew  the  hammer 
back  so  far  that  it  stuck.  The  second  rifle  lay  there, 
unloaded,  as  Poe  had  fired  it  at  the  little  Indian  when 
he  had  dispatched  this  energetic  enemy. 

Andrew  Poe  swam  on  hoping  yet  to  dodge  his  enemy's 
bullet.  As  he  splashed  to  shore,  his  brother  Adam 
suddenly  appeared,  attracted  by  the  noise  of  the  dis- 
charge of  the  rifle  which  had  killed  the  little  redskin. 
His  gun,  alas,  was  unloaded,  as  he  had  just  fired  it  at 
the  other  group  of  red  men.  Seeing  the  predicament 
of  Big  Foot,  who,  seizing  the  second  rifle,  began  to  load 
it,  Adam  too  rammed  home  a  charge.  Luck  was  with 
the  scout.  In  his  nervous  haste  the  redskin  dropped 
his  ram-rod,  and  this  momentary  delay  gave  Adam 
the  very  opportunity  that  he  wished.  Putting  his  own 
flintlock  to  his  shoulder,  he  took  careful  aim  and  fired. 
With  a  loud  j^ell  the  celebrated  Big  Foot  fell,  mortally 
wounded.  One  of  the  gamest  struggles  in  frontier 
history  was  over. 

Without  waiting  a  second,  Adam  Poe  leaped  into 
the  water  in  order  to  help  his  brother,  but,  seeing  the 
redskin  tumbling  into  the  river,  Andrew  cried  out: 

"Let  me  alone,  Brother;  I'll  get  out  all  right.    Get 


118  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

the  redskin's  scalp  before  he  rolls  into  the  water." 
But  Adam  thought  more  of  his  brother  than  he  did 
of  the  Indian,  and  despite  this  protest  he  hastened  to 
drag  him  ashore.  The  red  man,  although  in  the  throes 
of  death,  purposely  hurled  himself  into  the  water  so 
that  his  enemies  could  not  get  his  scalp.  He  sank, 
and  the  swift  current  carried  him  from  view. 

Meanwhile  the  other  pioneers  had  had  a  desperate 
fight  with  the  rest  of  the  Indians  and  had  killed  all  but 
one.  The  white  prisoner  had  been  retaken.  Hearing 
the  sound  of  Poe's  battle  with  the  two  red  men  they 
hastened  to  his  relief,  and  as  they  neared  the  scene  of 
the  struggle  one  pioneer  mistook  Andrew  (in  the  water) 
for  a  red  man.  Firing  quickly,  he  wounded  him  hi 
the  shoulder;  then,  realizing  his  mistake,  dashed  for- 
ward and  was  the  first  to  pull  him  out. 

Big  Foot  had  been  killed  in  this  skirmish,  and  four 
brothers  with  him.  All  were  celebrated  warriors  among 
the  Wyandots,  and  their  death  crippled  the  tribe  severely. 
Several  times  the  red  men  endeavored  to  avenge  this 
loss,  but  they  were  unsuccessful,  and  Andrew  Poe, 
recovering  from  his  wounds,  lived  for  many  years. 
In  his  old  age  he  would  often  tell  with  great  relish 
the  story  of  his  desperate  battle  with  the  two  red  men, 
and  well  might  he  be  proud  of  the  affair,  for  it  was  a 
masterful  struggle.  Remember  the  two  athletic  Poes, 
for  this  true  battle  was  more  desperate  than  that  written 
by  any  author  of  stirring  tales!  It  well  deserves  to 
live  in  the  memory  of  those  who  admire  manly  pluck, 
courage,  and  endurance,  as  does  the  spirited  horse- 
back rider,  Major  Sam  McCulloch  of  West  Virginia. 


THE   TWO   ATHLETIC   POES       119 

Virginia  has  always  been  noted  for  her  riders.  It 
is  a  great  State  and  a  fertile  one.  The  mountain  coun- 
ties, such  as  Loudoun  and  Fauquier,  are  rich  in  blue- 
grass,  limy  water,  and  broad  pasture  lands,  where 
horses  are  easily  fed  and  developed.  Today  the  best 
blood  in  America  finds  a  place  in  the  ample  barns  of 
the  hospitable  farmers,  and  today  no  better  horses 
are  bred  than  in  this  garden  spot  —  cool  in  summer; 
pure  with  the  breath  of  mountain  air;  and  rich  with 
the  dark,  loamy  soil  of  marvellous  strength  and  vigor. 

The  men  of  this  country  early  learn  to  ride,  and 
early  learn  to  love  a  good  horse.  Even  the  poorest 
of  them  has  a  mount  of  thoroughbred  blood,  although 
his  other  possessions  may  be  small  and  meagre.  When 
Virginia  was  just  settled,  no  man  was  more  fond  of -a 
good  animal  than  Major  Sam  McCulloch,  a  famous 
ranger,  and  as  good  a  rider  as  the  far-famed  General 
Jeb  Stuart  of  Civil  War  fame,  and  Colonel  John  S. 
Mosby,  the  partisan  scout  and  cavalryman  of  those 
stirring  times.  He  hunted,  trapped,  and  scouted  all 
ovei  this  gorgeous  mountain  section 'and,  in  the  course 
of  his  career,  found  himself  one  day  near  the  little 
town  of  Wheeling,  now  the  capital  of  West  Virginia. 

Then  this  big  city  was  but  a  small  collection  of 
twenty-five  log  huts,  protected  by  Fort  Henry,  a  quar- 
ter of  a  mile  away.  Many  were  the  brushes  with  the 
red  marauders  —  Wyandots,  Shawnees  and  Delawares 
—  and  one  day  four  hundred  of  the  hostiles  attacked 
the  place,  determined  if  possible  to  lay  it  in  ruins. 
The  settlers,  terrified  but  game,  hurried  into  the  fort, 
there  to  defend  themselves  and  their  families.  Twenty- 


120  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

six  were  shot  as  they  ran  to  the  protection  of  the  stock- 
ade, and  there  were  only  forty-two  men  in  all  to  defend 
it,  before  this  loss. 

Messengers  were  hurried  to  the  neighboring  settle- 
ments for  aid.  Fifteen  frontiersmen  fought  their 
way  into  the  stockade  without  losing  a  man.  This 
gave  the  garrison  courage,  but  the  men  began  to  cheer 
when  they  saw  fully  forty  horsemen  at  the  edge  of  the 
cleared  space  surrounding  the  little  log  fortification. 
They  were  rangers,  scouts  and  trappers  under  Major 
Sam  McCulloch,  —  the  gamest  fighter  and  best  rider 
then  upon  the  border.  "Hurray!  for  Sam  McCul- 
loch!" shouted  the  garrison.  "Now  we'll  give  the  red- 
skins thunder.  Hurray!  Hurray!" 

The  red  men,  appreciating  that  they  must  annihi- 
late this  band,  attacked  the  rescuers  with  fury.  They 
poured  a  deadly  rifle  fire  among  the  Virginians,  but  the 
men  dismounted  and,  firing  from  behind  their  steeds, 
gradually  worked  their  way  up  to  the  gates  of  the  fort. 
The  doors  were  thrown  open;  they  dashed  inside; 
but,  as  they  yelled  their  joy,  a  sudden  quiet  came. 
Out  in  the  woodland  could  be  seen  the  bravest  of  them 
all,  Major  Sam  McCulloch.  He  was  cut  off,  surrounded 
by  an  overwhelming  body.  He  would  be  taken,  tor- 
tured and  killed. 

Four  hundred  Indians  crowded  in  upon  the  des- 
perate leader  with  wild,  exultant  yells  of  vindictive 
joy.  He  was  well  known  to  them.  They  hated  and 
despised  him,  for  he  was  more  than  a  match  for  their 
best  warriors  and,  with  his  band  of  frontier  rangers, 
had  often  defeated  them  in  battle.  Now  that  they 


THE   TWO   ATHLETIC   POES       121 

had  him  in  their  power,  nothing  could  exceed  their 
joyous  satisfaction,  and  wild  were  their  whoops  as  they 
closed  in  upon  the  cool-headed  horseman. 

But  Sam  McCulloch  had  been  in  desperate  situa- 
tions before.  In  a  flash  he  saw  that  he  could  not  gain 
the  fort.  The  Indians  were  running  in  upon  three  sides, 
leaving  only  one  way  for  escape,  and  that  to  the  rear. 
Spurring  his  horse,  he  wheeled  around  and  dashed 
full  tilt  for  this  opening,  which  led  towards  the  brink 
of  a  precipice  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet  above  the 
waters  of  Wheeling  Creek,  which  peacefully  wound  a 
gentle  course  far  below.  The  red  men,  little  thinking 
that  he  would  try  this  opening,  had  left  the  way 
clear. 

The  major  was  mounted  upon  a  three-quarter-bred 
bay  gelding,  the  type  of  horse  that  is  now  used  for 
fox-hunting  in  "Ole  Virginian."  The  animal  was  well 
schooled  to  jump,  and  bounded  over  the  fallen  trees 
in  his  way  with  ease  and  freedom.  The  noble  animal 
reached  the  edge  of  the  deep  ravine  and,  for  an  instant, 
the  brave  major  curbed  him.  The  redskins  were  press- 
ing close,  yelping  like  timber  wolves,  for  already  they 
felt  that  he  was  theirs.  "I  prefer  death  to  torture," 
said  the  horseman  to  himself.  "Here  goes,"  and, 
plunging  his  spurs  into  his  willing  steed,  he  leaped  out 
into  the  air.  The  redskins  stopped  in  wonder  and 
amazement,  for  their  quarry  had  vanished. 

Down!  Down  into  the  yawning  depth  spun  the 
horse  and  man.  Down!  Down!  Then  thud!  Splash! 
they  struck  in  the  middle  of  the  stream.  The  horse's 
legs  ploughed  deep  into  the  sandy  bottom,  but  he  was 


122  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

riot  injured,  and  scrambling  to  the  other  shore  bore 
his  rider,  dripping,  to  the  bank. 

Major  McCulloch  turned  with  his  fist  clenched  and 
shook  it  at  the  silent  red  men  who,  clustering  upon 
the  edge  of  the  precipice,  looked  down  upon  the  fugitive 
in  wonder  and  amazement.  "Ugh!  Ugh!"  said  one, 
"the  Great  Spirit  is  with  him.  He  rides  the  horse  of 
the  Evil  One.  We  cannot  catch  him." 

Arid  so  saying,  the  redskins  returned  to  the  siege 
of  the  fort,  which  was  so  well  defended  that  they  could 
not  take  it,  while  several  miles  away  rode  Major 
Sam  McCulloch,  quietly  laughing  at  the  wonder  and 
amazement  of  the  warriors  from  the  West,  and  patting 
gently  upon  the  neck  his  truest  friend  in  all  Virginia. 
To  his  speed  and  courage  he  owed  his  life.  A  toast  to 
this  noble  animal,  —  the  gamest  steed  that  ever  broused 
upon  the  blue-grass  pastures  of  the  Old  Dominion. 


LEWIS  AND  CLARKE:  THE  FIRST  BOLD 
EXPLORERS  TO  REACH  THE  PACIFIC 
BY  THE  NORTHERN  ROUTE.     HERE 
IS  THE  HISTORY  OF  TWO  LION- 
HEARTED  MEN 

MOST  of  the  vast  country  west  of  the  Mississippi 
River  was  owned,  in  1803,  by  France.  Spain 
had  made  a  secret  treaty  with  France  by  which 
she  ceded  the  territory  of  Louisiana,  embracing  the 
present  States  of  Montana,  North  and  South  Dakota, 
Wyoming,  Nebraska,  Minnesota,  Iowa,  Missouri,  Kan- 
sas, Arkansas,  Louisiana,  Indian  Territory,  and  part 
of  Colorado.  President  Jefferson,  learning  of  this 
treaty,  sent  a  commission  to  France  to  purchase  the 
island  on  which  New  Orleans  stood,  and  also  the  right 
of  a  passage  to  the  sea.  While  Napoleon  Bonaparte 
was  considering  this,  he  came  forward  with  an  offer 
to  sell  all  of  Louisiana  to  the  United  States  for  twenty 
million  dollars.  After  bargaining  for  a  while,  the 
vast  territory  was  purchased  for  fifteen  million  dollars. 
Bonaparte  was  delighted.  "This  accession  of  terri- 
tory, "  said  he,  rubbing  his  hands,  "strengthens  for- 
ever the  power  of  the  United  States.  I  have  given 
England  a  rival  upon  the  sea,  which  will  sooner  or  later 
humble  her  pride." 

Very  few  people  realized  the  value  of  the  newly 
bought  possessions,  and  many  roundly  abused  Jeffer- 

123 


124  FAMOUS    SCOUTS 

son  for  making  it.  But  the  western  settlers  were  over- 
joyed. "At  last,"  said  they,  "we  have  room  for  ex- 
pansion. Hurrah  for  Jefferson."  Highly  delighted 
at  his  success,  the  president  recommended  to  congress, 
in  a  confidential  message,  that  a  party  should  be  dis- 
patched to  trace  the  Missouri  River  to  its  source,  cross 
the  Rocky  Mountains,  and  go  to  the  Pacific  Coast. 
The  plan  was  approved,  Captain  Meriwether  Lewis, 
the  president's  private  secretary,  being  appointed  to 
lead  the  expedition  which  was  to  consist  of  nine  young 
Kentuckians,  fourteen  United  States  soldiers,  two 
French  watermen  to  serve  as  interpreter  and  hunter, 
and  a  black  servant  for  Captain  William  Clarke,  who 
was  a  joint  commander.  Theirs  was  a  wonderful 
journey  and  it  gave  to  the  people  of  the  eastern  sea- 
board their  first  knowledge  of  that  vast  territory  which 
lay  beyond  the  turbid  current  of  the  Mississippi. 

Upon  the  twenty-first  of  May,  1804,  the  little  band 
of  bold-hearted  explorers  left  the  mouth  of  the  Mis- 
souri River  and  struck  out  towards  the  unknown  West. 
WTiat  must  have  been  their  feelings  as  they  headed 
into  the  unknown?  How  their  very  souls  must  have 
thrilled  at  the  thought  of  penetrating  into  that  un- 
explored region,  from  which  had  come  only  rumors  of 
fierce  tribes  of  red  men;  of  vast  herds  of  game;  of  deep, 
plunging  rivers,  beetling  mountains,  and  unpenetrable 
forests  of  hemlock,  fir,  and  pine.  They  had  the  deep 
satisfaction  of  knowing  that  they  were  the  first  white 
men  to  penetrate  the  wild  West  and,  like  the  followers 
of  Peary,  the  Arctic  explorer,  their  spirits  must  have 
thrilled  with  the  thought  of  being  the  first  men  to  see 


LEWIS   AND   CLARKE  125 

and  to  know  this  vast  region  of  mountains,  water  courses, 
and  plateaus.  I  have  travelled  upon  their  old  trail 
and  when  first  viewing  the  towering  peaks  of  the  Rockies, 
was  so  overwhelmed  by  the  gorgeous  vista  that  I  could 
not  suppress  a  cheer.  How  must  it  have  affected  these 
lone  wanderers,  —  the  very  first  white  men  to  see  the 
serried  columns  of  this  magnificent  range,  and  to  know 
that  they  would  bring  the  first  written  word  of  the  scene 
to  the  anxious  ears  of  thousands  of  their  fellow  white 
men?  I'll  warrant  that  they  were  often  startled  by 
the  very  grandeur  of  the  scenes  which  lay  before  them. 
Fortunate  men  to  be  the  earliest  pioneers  to  see  this 
gorgeous  country. 

The  little  party  camped,  at  the  end  of  August,  upon 
a  high  bluff,  surrounded  by  a  beautiful  plain.  Here 
a  number  of  red  warriors  met  them  and  said,  "We 
would  speak  with  you.  We  wish  big  talk." 

So  Lewis  and  Clarke  held  a  pow-wow  with  them. 
"We  love  white  sons  of  the  great  father,"  said  one 
chief.  "We  welcome  them  to  Indian  country.  But 
Indian  is  poor.  White  brother  rich.  He  have  stick 
which  shoots  fire.  Cannot  white  brother  give  red 
brother  present.  How!  How!" 

All  spoke  in  the  same  way,  so  they  were  presented 
with  various  glass  beads  and  trinkets,  a  feast  was  held, 
and  promising  that  they  would  not  disturb  them, 
the  redskins  allowed  the  whites  to  pass  on  up  the  Mis- 
souri River.  Lewis  called  the  place  Council  Bluffs, 
and  now  the  prosperous  manufacturing  town  of  that 
name  —  a  populous  city  of  Iowa  —  stands  where  was 
held  this  noted  conference  between  the  first  white 


126  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

explorers  of  the  virgin  West,  and  those  who  could  have 
stopped  the  expedition  had  they  so  wished. 

But  things  were  not  always  peaceable.  Soon  the 
little  band  of  adventurers  had  come  to  the  land  of  the 
Sioux  —  the  strongest,  richest,  and  most  warlike  of 
all  the  western  tribes  —  and  one  day  were  surprised 
to  find  that  their  best  horse  had  been  stolen.  Next 
day  they  saw  several  redskins  upon  the  shore. 

"We  are  friends,"  said  Clarke  from  his  boat.  "We 
wish  to  remain  such.  We  are  not  afraid  of  any  Indians. 
Some  of  your  young  men  have  stolen  the  horse  which 
your  great  white  father  in  Washington  sent  for  your 
great  chief.  We  cannot  treat  with  you  until  it  is 
brought  back  to  us." 

The  whites  were  in  several  boats  and,  as  they  pulled 
up  the  Missouri,  the  Indians  followed  upon  the  bank. 

"We  not  seen  your  horse,"  said  they,  through  the 
interpreter.  "We  wish  to  come  on  board  your  boats. 
We  want  to  shake  hands  with  you."  But  Lewis  and 
Clarke  would  not  stop. 

Next  day  fifty  or  sixty  chiefs  and  warriors  came 
down  to  the  water's  edge.  "How!  How!"  said  they. 
"We  wish  to  come  on  board  your  canoes.  How! 
How!" 

"You  can  come  on  board,"  said  Lewis,  "but  you 
must  not  take  anything  that  is  not  given  to  you." 

"How!    How!"  said  the  redskins. 

The  red  men  were  much  interested  in  what  they 
saw,  particularly  in  an  air  gun;  while  a  quarter  glass 
of  whiskey  given  to  each  made  the  red  men  love  their 
white  brothers  to  such  an  extent  that  they  would  not 


LEWIS   AND   CLARKE  127 

move.  Finally  they  were  persuaded  to  go  ashore,  but 
they  had  conceived  an  idea  of  stopping  the  whites 
until  they  could  secure  more  "fire-water,"  so  when 
the  boat  grounded  it  was  tightly  held  by  several  of  the 
red  men.  One  old  chief  pretended  to  be  intoxicated 
and  cried  out: 

"You  no  go  on.  Indian  keep  you  here.  You  got 
to  give  Indian  heap  more  presents,  —  not  'nough  yet. 
Indian  want  heap  presents." 

But  Captain  Clarke  grew  angry.      , 

"We  will  not  let  you  keep  us  here,"  he  thundered. 
"We  are  not  squaws.  We  are  warriors.  Our  great 
white  father  has  sent  us  here.  He  can  send  his  men 
armed  with  the  fire  sticks  [rifle]  sand  can  kill  all  of  you 
in  an  hour  if  you  harm  us." 

"Indians  have  warriors,  also,"  said  the  chief,  signal- 
ling to  his  men. 

Immediately  Captain  Clarke  drew  his  sword  and 
cried  out,  "Men,  prepare  for  action."  As  he  spoke 
the  soldiers  loaded  their  guns,  pointing  them  at  the 
redskins,  while  the  other  boats  hastened  to  the  rescue. 
The  red  men  were  bending  their  bows  and  arrows, 
but  when  they  saw  the  other  boats  approaching  they 
withdrew,  and  could  be  seen  talking  to  one  another 
very  vociferously.  Bold  Clarke, knew  that  if  he  pushed 
on  up  the  Missouri  leaving  an  enemy  in  his  rear  it  would 
be  unwise,  so  he  rowed  towards  them,  holding  out  his 
hand  in  token  of  friendship. 

The  chiefs,  at  first,  refused  to  come  near.  But 
after  a  while  they  grew  friendly  and,  not  only  ap- 
proached, but  came  on  board  the  vessel.  The  peace 


128  FAMOUS    SCOUTS 

pipe  was  smoked;  the  whites  were  invited  to  the  Sioux 
village,  and  there  a  great  feast  was  spread  before  them, 
including  boiled  dog,  which  was  the  favorite  dish  of 
the  redskins.  The  red  men  refused  to  deliver  the 
horse-thief  and,  deciding  that  it  was  wisest  not  to 
press  the  matter,  the  little  band  of  adventurers  pressed 
farther  up  the  mighty  river. 

Now  the  journey  was  peaceful  and  easy.  Various 
bands  of  the  Sioux  lived  along  the  banks  of  the  stream, 
and  these  were  all  friendly.  Day  after  day  they  rowed 
and  poled  their  shallow  craft  up  the  beautiful  river, 
carrying  around  the  rapids  and  falls,  camping  beneath 
the  splendid  shade  trees,  and  living  from  the  antelope, 
wild  duck,  and  fish  which  they  took.  The  days  grew 
shorter,  great  flocks  of  geese  flew  over  their  heads 
upon  their  journey  south,  and,  realizing  that  winter 
was  upon  them,  the  adventurers  stopped  at  a  place 
which  they  christened  Fort  Mandan,  —  sixteen  hun- 
dred miles  from  the  mouth  of  the  Missouri  River. 
Friendly  Indians  were  around  them  and  brought  them 
dried  squashes,  corn,  and  other  vegetables.  They 
had  no  difficulty  of  getting  along  with  the  bands  of 
Sioux,  Mandan,  and  Minnetaree  redskins  who  con- 
stantly visited  the  little  log  huts  which  they  had  here 
erected. 

The  winter  passed  away;  some  of  their  men  were 
attacked  by  roving  Sioux,  when  sent  off  for  a  supply 
of  meat,  but  none  were  killed.  When  spring  came, 
with  great  good  spirit  and  confidence  in  their  own 
ability  to  reach  their  goal,  the  little  party  turned  to- 
wards the  setting  sun  and  pressed  onward  upon  their 


LEWIS    AND    CLARKE  129 

mission.  All  were  well  and  in  excellent  health;  their 
leaders  were  full  of  joy  at  the  expectation  of  soon  reach- 
ing the  great  mountains  which  the  Indians  said,  "Are 
bold  and  strong  like  the  arm  of  the  Great  Spirit." 

On  the  eleventh  of  May  one  of  the  soldiers  left  the 
boat  and  went  ashore  to  hunt,  but  in  the  course  of 
half  an  hour  he  was  seen  running  towards  the  river, 
with  fear  and  distress  plainly  marked  upon  his  coun- 
tenance. When  he  came  near  enough  to  talk,  he  said 
that  he  had  not  gone  far  before  he  had  stumbled  upon 
a  great  brown  bear  of  enormous  size.  He  had  fired 
and  wounded  him.  The  animal  had  turned  to  follow 
but,  weakened  by  loss  of  blood,  had  stopped  just  be- 
fore he  had  reached  the  vicinity  of  the  boat. 

"Let  me  see  the  fellow,"  cried  Captain  Lewis,  as 
he  scrambled  ashore.  "I'll  lay  him  low,  I'll  warrant." 

Together  with  seven  men  he  immediately  set  out 
to  find  the  wounded  animal  and,  tracking  him  by  his 
blood,  soon  found  where  he  had  Iain  down  in  the  brush, 
after  digging  a  hole  two  feet  deep  to  lie  in.  The  animal, 
snarling  and  growling,  staggered  upon  his  feet  in  order 
to  rush  the  white  men,  but  they  soon  shot  him  dead. 
"By  heavens,"  wrote  Clarke  in  his  diary,  "we  had 
rather  encounter  two  Indians  than  meet  a  single  brown 
bear.  They  are  strong,  powerful,  and  very  fierce. 
We  obtained  eight  gallons  of  oil  from  this  monster." 
And  monster  he  was,  indeed,  for  the  party  had  stumbled 
upon  their  first  grizzly  bear,  —  the  monarch  of  the 
Rocky  Mountains  and  lord  of  the  foothills. 

Nor  was  this  the  only  one  that  they  saw.  Some 
time  later  Captain  Lewis  went  out  upon  the  plains  to 


130  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

hunt  and  there  discovered  an  immense  herd  of  buffalo. 
He  determined  to  shoot  one  and,  after  creeping  care- 
fully near  a  bunch  of  cows  and  bulls,  wounded  a  fine, 
fat  cow.  He  was  so  interested  in  watching  this  animal 
that  he  did  not  notice  a  huge  grizzly  which  stole  up 
upon  him  until  it  was  scarcely  twenty  feet  away.  Hear- 
ing a  slight  noise,  the  huntsman  turned,  and  as  the 
bear  perceived  him  he  rushed  upon  him  with  open 
mouth.  Captain  Lewis  immediately  turned  to  run, 
but  grizzlies  are  very  fast,  and  he  found  that  the  bear 
would  overtake  him.  Unfortunately  he  could  not 
load  his  rifle  while  on  the  run  and,  if  he  should  stop  to 
do  so,  he  knew  that  the  huge  beast  would  be  upon  him 
with  open  jaws. 

Luckily  the  river  was  near  and,  racing  to  the  bank, 
the  breathless  soldier  waded  out  to  his  arm  pits,  where 
he  knew  the  bear  would  have  to  attack  him  by  swim- 
ming. Now  seizing  his  hunting  knife,  he  raised  it  above 
his  head,  determined  to  die  game,  if  he  had  to.  But 
Bruin  thought  better  of  the  attack  when  he  saw  his 
adversary  in  such  an  excellent  position  for  defense. 
Giving  a  few  angry  sniffs  and  growls,  he  turned  about 
and  lumbered  away,  while  Lewis,  clambering  from  the 
cold  water,  vowed  that  never  again  would  he  leave  his 
rifle  unloaded  after  firing  a  shot. 

If  you  look  at  the  map  of  the  United  States,  you 
see  that  the  largest  branch  southwestward  from  the 
head  of  the  Missouri  is  the  Yellowstone,  and  that  the 
great  Rocky  Mountains  intervene  between  the  mighty 
watercourse  and  the  Columbia,  which  empties  into 
the  Pacific  Ocean.  In  going  up  the  Missouri,  the  ex- 


LEWIS   AND   CLARKE  131 

plorers  were  in  doubt  which  stream  led  to  their  goal 
when  they  arrived  to  the  place  where  the  Yellowstone 
meets  the  greater  stream  and,  consequently,  a  part 
went  up  the  Missouri,  while  the  rest  paddled  westward 
up  the  Yellowstone.  Captain  Clarke  —  in  charge  of 
the  men  on  the  Yellowstone  —  discovered  the  great 
falls  and,  then  realizing  that  he  was  near  the  end  of 
that  stream,  turned  about,  retraced  his  steps  and  joined 
Captain  Lewis  who  had  gone  some  distance  up  the 
turbid  Missouri,  which  runs  up  to  the  Rockies.  The 
adventurers  learned  -that  the  tribe  of  Shoshones  in- 
habited the  land  which  they  intended  to  cross.  When 
they  met  some  of  these  Indians  they  did  all  in  their 
power  to  get  on  friendly  terms  with  them,  for  they 
knew  that  if  angered  the  redskins  could  soon  wipe 
out  the  few  explorers.  On  August  18th  they  reached 
the  extreme  point  of  navigation  of  the  river  and, 
realizing  that  it  would  be  best  to  make  a  dash  for  the 
coast  with  but  half  of  the  party,  they  decided  that 
Captain  Clarke,  with  eleven  men,  should  make  the 
overland  journey  to  the  Columbia  River.  The  rest 
were  to  camp  where  they  were  until  the  return  of  their 
fellows. 

"The  country  in  front  is  held  by  a  fierce  and  war- 
like people,"  said  the  Shoshones.  "They  live  upon 
horses  stolen  from  those  who  pass  the  mountains. 
They  sleep  in  caves.  A  desert  lies  before  you  ten 
days'  journey  in  width,  where  no  animals  or  food  is 
to  be  found.  Your  horses  will  all  die  of  thirst.  You 
cannot  go  on." 

At  first  Captain   Clarke   believed  these  tales,  but 


132  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

seeing  that  the  Shoshones  were  anxious  to  have  him 
spend  the  winter  with  them  so  that  they  could  get 
more  presents  out  of  him,  he  secured  sufficient  horses 
for  his  command  and  pressed  westward  by  the  northern 
route.  Lewis  joined  him,  for  he  thought  that  the 
Indians  were  treacherous  and,  if  he  remained  among 
them  with  his  small  party,  he  feared  a  massacre. 

The  pioneers  had  been  awed  and  inspired  by  the 
wonderful  scenery  which  lay  before  them.  Rugged 
mountains  were  there:  brown,  steep,  hemlock-clad. 
Deep  game  trails  led  through  the  tangled  meshes  of 
the  forest  and,  in  the  sparkling  riverlets,  trout  jumped 
at  the  floating  gnats  and  insects.  Gorges  and  canyons 
had  to  be  passed,  where  the  howling  waters  raced  in 
an  apparent  agony,  and  flute-like  came  the  sound  of 
the  rush  of  the  snow-cold  water  against  the  pebbly 
bottoms.  At  night  the  scream  of  the  mountain  lion 
echoed  across  the  silent  valleys,  while  the  bleat  of  the 
antelope  could  be  heard  upon  the  vast  plains  near  the 
river  bed.  Eagles  soared  above,  peering  disdainfully 
at  the  black  specks  of  men  beneath,  and  sage  hens 
craned  their  necks  at  them  when  they  tramped  from 
the  river  in  search  of  game.  Over  all  was  the  clear, 
pure  air  of  that  vast  mountain  plateau  which  invigor- 
ates, stimulates,  and  makes  one  feel  as  if  he  had  the 
strength  of  ten.  Inspired  and  stimulated  by  the  thought 
that  they  were  making  history,  the  men  pressed  on, 
determined  to  view  the  gray  waters  of  the  fog-sheeted 
Pacific. 

The  great,  awe-inspiring  Rockies  were  soon  crossed. 
A  country  was  entered  which  was  arid  and  bare.     Barbed 


LEWIS   AND   CLARKE  133 

thorns  and  prickly  pears  lacerated  the  feet  of  the  men 
and  horses.  No  living  creature  was  seen  for  several 
days,  except  a  few  sage  hens  and  "  gophers. " —  a  small 
squirrel-like  rodent.  In  September  a  snow  storm 
chilled  them  and,  as  their  provisions  grew  scant  and 
low,  it  was  apparent  that  if  more  favorable  lands  were 
not  reached  some  of  the  men  would  die.  Yellow  wastes 
covered  with  sage  brush  were  on  every  hand,  and  it 
seemed  as  if  this  tiresome  plateau  would  never  be 
crossed. 

Finally,  as  many  were  despairing,  an  Indian  vil- 
lage was  reached,  where  the  sun-burned  explorers  were 
received  with  kindness  and  were  fed.  The  red  men 
were  Nez  Perces.  Although  their  chief  was  away  with 
a  war  party,  by  using  flattery  and  dispensing  many 
trinkets  among  the  women,  enough  food  was  secured 
to  last  many  days.  The  adventurers  had  travelled 
one  hundred  miles  between  the  southern  and  northern 
forks  of  a  river  which  they  named  the  Lewis, —  after 
their  courageous  captain,  Meriwether  Lewis.  It  is 
now  called  the  Snake.  They  were  weak  from  fatigue 
and  disease,  but  determined  to  descend  the  river  in 
canoes  of  their  own  construction  and,  as  food  was  low, 
dined  from  a  number  of  Indian  dogs,  —  a  dish  which 
they  had  scorned  when  with  the  Sioux.  Hunger  un- 
makes many  an  epicure. 

At  last  the  determined  men  of  brawn  and  courage 
were  upon  the  last  lap  of  the  great  journey  westward. 
Launching  their  canoes,  they  drifted  down  the  Lewis 
River  into  the  broad  waters  of  the  Columbia,  and  by 
easy  stages  paddled  towards  the  rolling  ocean.  Num- 


134  FAMOUS    SCOUTS 

berless  bands  of  red  men  visited  them  as  they  went 
on.  When  they  neared  the  coast  some  Nez  Perces, 
who  had  come  with  them,  said,  "We  go  back.  Indian 
down  here  no  like  Nez  Perce.  Scalp  us.  We  go  home." 

They  were  persuaded,  however,  to  remain  with  the 
party  until  the  falls  of  the  Columbia  had  been  passed. 
And  after  these  had  been  left  behind,  with  joy  and 
exuberance,  the  travel-scarred  voyagers  dug  their 
paddles  into  the  water  and  drove  the  light  canoes  to- 
wards the  sea.  Early  in  November,  upon  a  beautiful, 
clear  day  their  eyes  were  gladdened  by  the  first  sight 
of  the  great  Pacific  Ocean,  and  with  loud  and  vociferous 
cheers  the  first  white  men  to  cross  the  north-central 
section  of  the  American  continent  paddled  into  the 
broad  expanse  at  the  mouth  of  the  swift-flowing  Colum- 
bia. The  continent  had  been  crossed.  After  trials, 
many  and  varied,  Lewis  and  Clarke  had  won,  and  the 
flag  of  the  infant  Republic  waved  from  the  green  hills 
of  Columbia  Bay. 

The  tired  adventurers  rested  at  the  coast  from 
November  to  March  of  the  following  year,  occupying 
their  tune  in  curing  meat  for  the  return  trip,  in  dressing 
skins  for  clothing,  and  in  exploring  the  coast.  The 
Indians  were  friendly.  As  spring  came,  the  men  turned 
their  eyes  towards  the  East  and,  after  leaving  written 
descriptions  of  their  journey  with  the  redskins  and 
posted  up  in  their  log  huts,  they  started  toward  the 
Rocky  Mountains  on  March  the  twenty-third.  By 
offering  their  services  as  physicians  to  the  Indians 
whom  they  met,  they  always  obtained  enough  fresh 
meat  to  sustain  their  strength.  The  tribes  were  hos- 


LEWIS   AND   CLARKE  135 

pitably  inclined  nearer  the  Rockies,  and  thus,  slowly 
but  surely,  Lewis  and  Clarke,  with  their  adventurous 
following,  neared  the  Great  Divide. 

One  incident  upon  the  return  journey  is  worthy 
of  mention.  When  the  explorers  were  among  the 
Blackfeet  Indians,  who  lived  in  the  country  which  is 
now  the  northwestern  part  of  Montana,  they  met  with 
decided  hostility  from  the  red  men.  The  Blackfeet 
had  the  reputation  of  being  great  thieves,  and  when 
the  little  band  of  whites  was  encamped  near  Mario's 
River  several  redskins  were  seen  hovering  nearby  by 
one  of  the  white  scouts,  —  a  Canadian  called  Drewyer. 
Knowing  that  a  fight  with  the  entire  tribe  of  Black- 
feet  would  mean  annihilation,  Captain  Lewis  advanced 
towards  the  red  men  with  a  flag  of  truce  tied  to  his 
ram-rod.  After  circling  about  them  for  some  time, 
on  their  ponies,  the  Blackfoot  warriors  —  eight  in 
number  —  apparently  assured  that  the  whites  were 
friendly,  came  toward  them,  dismounted,  shook  hands, 
and  smoked  with  them. 

Captain  Lewis  found  that  the  red  men  enjoyed 
smoking  the  stone  pipe  immensely,  so  he  remained 
awake  until  a  late  hour,  entertaining  his  guests.  Then 
the  red  men  lay  down  to  rest  and,  as  soon  as  their 
deep  breathing  showed  that  they  slumbered,  the  watch- 
ful captain  awoke  a  trapper  called  Fields,  telling  him 
to  arouse  him  in  case  any  red  men  left  the  camp,  as  he 
knew  that  they  would  probably  try  to  steal  the  horses 
of  the  white  men.  He  then  lay  down  in  the  same  tent 
with  the  Indians,  while  Fields  settled  himself  near  the 
fire. 


136  FAMOUS    SCOUTS 

At  sunrise  a  Blackfoot  brave  seized  the  rifles  of 
several  men  and  began  to  run  off.  Fields  saw  him  and 
gave  chase.  The  Jndian  ran  hard,  but  the  trapper 
overtook  him  and,  seizing  him  by  the  body,  stabbed 
him  with  his  knife.  The  redskin  was  killed,  and  the 
white  sentinel  returned  to  camp  with  the  rifles. 

Captain  Lewis  was  lying  side  by  side  with  Drewyer, 
the  Canadian,  with  both  of  their  rifles  near  enough  to 
be  instantly  seized,  when  two  Blackfeet  entered  the 
tent,  one  of  whom  seized  Lewis's  rifle.  As  he  touched 
the  gun,  Drewyer,  who  was  awake,  jumped  up  and 
wrested  it  from  him.  The  noise  of  the  scuffle  awoke 
Captain  Lewis,  who  reached  for  his  gun  only  to  find 
it  gone.  The  other  redskin  had  seized  it  and  was  mak- 
ing off  with  it  as  fast  as  he  could  run. 

Captain  Lewis,  seizing  a  pistol  from  his  belt,  im- 
mediately pursued. 

"Lay  down  that  gun,"  he  shouted  in  the  Indian 
tongue. 

The  Indian  stopped  and,  as  he  did  so  some  of  the 
pioneers  drew  a  bead  upon  him. 

"Don't  fire,  men,"  cried  Lewis.  "He  seems  to  be 
going  to  give  up  my  gun,  and  I  would  rather  not  kill 
any  of  them,  for  if  we  do  the  whole  tribe  will  be  after 
us." 

"Look,  Captain,"  cried  one  of  his  men.  "The  red- 
skins are  trying  to  drive  off  all  the  horses." 

And  as  Lewis  looked,  he  saw  the  Blackfeet  driving 
all  of  his  men's  ponies  towards  a  deep  niche  in  the  river 
bluffs.  The  leader  of  the  expedition  immediately  made 
after  them. 


LEWIS   AND   CLARKE  137 

"I  will  fire,"  he  shouted,  "unless  you  give  up  our 
horses." 

The  red  men  kept  on,  but  with  one  skillful  shot 
Captain  Lewis  dropped  one  of  the  Blackfeet.  The 
others  ran  away,  driving  only  one  horse  before  them, 
and  running  after  the  others,  the  pioneers  soon  had 
them  in  camp. 

"We  must  leave  in  hot  haste,"  cried  Captain  Clarke. 
"These  Indians  will  tell  of  the  death  of  their  fellows 
and  the  whole  Blackfoot  nation  will  be  out  after  our 
scalps.  Hurry  men!  Saddle  up!  We  must  be  away!" 
The  men  did  not  have  to  be  greatly  urged.  They 
soon  were  off,  and  the  little  band  travelled  for  a  hun- 
dred miles  before,  almost  exhausted  by  fatigue,  they 
halted  at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning.  At  daylight 
they  were  off  again,  fearful  that  each  moment  they 
would  hear  a  wild  war-whoop  in  their  rear.  But  they 
were  not  pursued,  and  escaped  in  safety. 

Ever  afterwards  the  Blackfeet  were  bitter  enemies 
to  the  whites,  and  in  the  advance  of  pioneers  into  the 
far  West  they  rivalled  the  war-like  Sioux  hi  their 
hostility,  blood-thirstiness,  and  hatred  for  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  invaders. 

The  men  with  Lewis  and  Clarke  lost  many  of  their 
horses.  Unseen  red  men  hovered  around  the  camp 
and  made  away  with  them  in  the  darkness.  Finally 
they  were  forced  to  again  take  the  boats  of  their  own 
construction,  and  in  their  skin  canoes  the  sturdy 
adventurers  paddled  a  cautious  way  down  the  Mis- 
souri. There  were  frequent  alarms  about  hostile  war 
parties,  but  luckily  they  were  only  once  attacked, 


138  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

when  Captain  Lewis  received  a  bad  wound  which  gave 
him  much  pain  and  discomfort  for  many  weeks.  Late 
in  September,  1806,  the  travel-scarred  party  neared 
St.  Louis,  on  the  Missouri, —  then  the  furthermost 
white  settlement  in  the  wild,  western  country. 

The  band  of  explorers  had  travelled  more  than 
seven  thousand  miles  by  horse,  foot,  canoe,  and  batteaux. 
They  had  treated  with  all  the  Indian  tribes  who  had 
been  met  with,  and  had  made  a  fairly  accurate  map 
of  the  country  through  which  they  had  passed.  The 
plants,  animals,  and  birds  of  this  vast,  unknown  region 
had  been  carefully  observed  and  written  about.  The 
red  men,  their  customs,  dress,  and  habits  had  been  fully 
described.  The  trappers  under  Lewis  and  Clarke 
had  made  a  great  journey, —  one  of  the  most  preten- 
tious in  all  history,  for  it  threw  open  a  rich  and  fertile 
territory  to  white  settlement. 

Lewis  says  in  his  diary:  "When  we  reached  St. 
Louis  we  received  a  most  hearty  and  hospitable  wel- 
come from  the  whole  village.  All  greeted  us  as  if 
returned  from  the  dead."  And  well  might  he  and 
his  men  be  greeted!  They  were  world  conquerors, 
in  the  best  sense,  in  that  they  had  blazed  the  way  for 
thousands  of  sturdy  homeseekers,  who  soon  followed 
in  their  wake,  building  homes,  cities,  manufacturing 
plants,  railroads,  and  telegraph  lines,  where  once  had 
roamed  the  lordly  bison,  the  herds  of  dun  colored  ante- 
lope, the  vast  bodies  of  stately  elk;  and  where,  in  the 
silence  of  the  forest,  the  grizzly  bear  —  monarch  of 
the  plains  and  mountains  —  had  moved  in  the  peace 
and  seclusion  of  the  wilderness. 


LEWIS   AND   CLARKE  139 

As  long  as  the  Anglo-Saxon  race  endures,  and  men 
love  bold  courage  and  indefatigable  labor,  the  names 
of  William  Clarke  and  Meriwether  Lewis  will  be  revered, 
honored,  and  respected.  And  it  is  just  and  fitting 
that  this  should  be  so. 


COLONEL  DAVID  CROCKETT:  BEAR 

HUNTER,  CONGRESSMAN,  AND 

DEFENDER  OF  TEXAN 

LIBERTY 

Remember  the  Alamo! 

There,  in  the  sunset  glow, 

Texan  and  Spanish  foe 

Fell  in  the  battle. 

Shrill  came  the  bugles'  blare, 

Sharp  through  the  flame's  red  glare, 

Crockett  had  done  his  share 

In  the  death  grapple. 

IN  Tennessee,  in  the  year  1823,  three  men  were  run- 
ning for  Congress.  One,  Colonel  Alexander,  was  a 
highly  educated  soldier.  Another,  General  William 
Arnold,  was  a  large  land  owner  and  a  man  of  much 
oratorical  ability.  The  third,  Davy  Crockett,  was 
a  poor  woodsman  and  pioneer,  whose  small  log  cabin 
and  meagre  possessions  were  nothing  compared  to  the 
riches  of  the  other  two.  A  mass  meeting  was  held, 
where  the  three  candidates  appeared,  and  Crockett 
opened  the  meeting  by  making  a  few  humorous  remarks. 
When  he  came  down  from  the  platform,  he  was  succeeded 
by  Colonel  Alexander  who,  in  turn  was  followed  by 
General  Arnold.  That  gentleman  refused  to  consider 
Crockett  seriously,  as  he  was  a  backwoodsman  with 

140 


COLONEL  DAVID  CROCKETT 


DAVY   CROCKETT  141 

little  education  or  refinement,  and  in  all  of  a  long 
speech  did  not  even  make  a  reference  to  him. 

The  general's  remarks  were  well  received  by  the 
crowd.  He  spoke  fluently  and  well.  No  doubt  he 
would  have  made  a  great  impression  at  the  meeting, 
but  for  an  incident  which  now  occurred. 

While  General  Arnold  was  concluding  with  a  won- 
derfully eloquent  plea  for  his  cause,  a  flock  of  guinea 
hens  flew  near  the  stand,  and  set  up  such  an  awful 
clatter  that  the  speaker  could  hardly  make  himself 
heard.  He  stopped  talking,  and  said: 

"Please  drive  those  beastly  guinea  fowl  away,  for 
I  cannot  bear  their  racket.  It  is  ear  splitting!" 

As  he  ceased,  Davy  Crockett  (the  despised  opponent) 
arose  and  said,  with  a  merry  twinkle  in  his  eyes: 

"Well,  colonel,  you  are  the  only  man  I  ever 
met  who  could  understand  fowl  language.  You  did 
not  have  the  courtesy  to  even  mention  me  in  your 
speech,  and  when  my  speckled  friends,  the  guinea 
fowls,  came  up  to  protest,  with  the  cry  of  '  Crockett, 
Crockett,  Crockett/  you  are  so  uncivil  as  to  order  them 
away." 

The  crowd  roared  with  laughter.  General  Arnold 
was  so  disconcerted  that  he  abruptly  left  the  stand, 
and  so  well  did  this  please  the  voters  that  the  election 
which  followed  resulted  in  favor  of  rough  Davy  Crockett 
by  a  majority  of  twenty-seven  hundred  and  forty-eight 
votes,  out  of  about  twenty  thousand  votes  cast.  His 
humor  had  won  him  the  coveted  honor  of  Representative. 

This  extraordinary  humor  is  what  gave  Davy 
Crockett  —  the  son  of  a  poor  backwoodsman  who  had 


142  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

fought  in  the  Revolutionary  War  —  his  great  popu- 
larity, for  at  one  time  he  was  one  of  the  most  popular 
men  in  public  life.  Born  in  Tennessee,  he  had  eight 
brothers  and  sisters,  and,  although  sent  to  a  back- 
woods school,  ran  away  after  he  had  been  there  four 
days.  There  was  little  for  him  to  do  at  the  country 
tavern  kept  by  his  father  hi  Jefferson  County,  Tennessee, 
and  so  the  truant  hired  himself  to  a  cattle  dealer.  With 
him  he  travelled  as  far  east  as  Baltimore  but,  losing 
his  occupation  after  the  sale  of  the  cattle,  engaged 
himself  as  a  cabin  boy  to  make  a  journey  to  London 
on  a  sailing  vessel.  A  wagoner  now  gave  him  a  position 
as  driver  of  his  cart,  and  the  stout-hearted  youth  took 
charge  of  a  load  of  flour,  which  he  delivered  at  Mont- 
gomery Court  House,  Virginia.  Here  he  hired  himself 
to  a  farmer,  but  left  him  at  the  end  of  a  month  to  accept 
a  position  with  a  hatter,  who  soon  left  the  country, 
badly  in  debt,  leaving  the  light-hearted  Davy  without 
a  cent,  but  with  a  suit  of  clothes  upon  his  back.  He 
was  now  about  fifteen  years  of  age,  and  so  absolutely 
ignorant  that  he  did  not  know  a  single  letter  of  the 
alphabet. 

Homesickness  compelled  him  to  return  to  the  place 
of  his  birth  in  Tennessee,  but  here  he  was  so  laughed 
at  for  his  ignorance,  particularly  by  a  young  girl  with 
whom  he  was  in  love,  that  he  determined  to  go  to  school 
and  make  up  for  his  early  lack  of  "book  learning." 
He  therefore  engaged  himself  to  a  Quaker  schoolmaster 
and  worked  for  him  two  days  in  the  week  in  payment 
for  instruction  for  the  other  four.  Under  this  arrange- 
ment he  received  tuition  for  six  months,  then  left  in 


DAVY   CROCKETT  143 

order  to  be  married.  He  says  in  his  book,  "I  learned 
to  read  in  a  primer,  to  write  my  name,  to  cypher  some 
in  the  first  three  rules  of  figures,  and  to  read  a  few  verses 
in  the  Bible."  This  was  all  the  schooling  that  the 
hero  of  the  Alamo  ever  received. 

No  one  opposed  his  marriage  more  than  his  aged 
mother,  but  at  the  last  moment  the  old  lady  relented, 
gave  her  son  her  blessing,  and  soon  came  to  see  him 
in  a  rough  little  cabin  which  he  built  for  his  wife,  —  a 
sweet  and  good-natured  daughter  of  a  pioneer.  For  a 
time  he  farmed  it  but,  hearing  of  a  more  fertile  country 
further  on  in  the  wilderness,  soon  moved  his  wife  and 
few  effects  to  a  clearing  near  Winchester,  Tennessee, 
which  was  quite  near  the  hunting  grounds  of  the  war- 
like Creek  Indians.  Soon  he  was  called  out  to  defend 
both  home  and  hearth  against  these  marauders. 

In  the  essay  upon  Weatherford,  the  Creek  con- 
spirator, in  "Famous  Indian  Chiefs,"  I  have  told  how 
the  redskins,  infuriated  at  the  advance  of  the  superior 
race  of  whites  into  their  territory,  suddenly  attacked 
the  frontier  fortress  of  Fort  Mimms,  massacring  all  the 
soldiers,  women  and  children  who  were  inside.  How 
the  whites  were  furiously  angered  by  this  awful  butchery, 
and  how  five  thousand  militiamen  from  Kentucky  and 
Tennessee,  under  Andrew  Jackson  and  Coffee,  marched  ^ 
against  them.  How  Weatherford  was  beaten  at  Tallus- 
hatches  and  Fort  Talladega.  How  he  made  a  last  desper- 
ate stand  at  the  Great  Horseshoe  Bend  of  the  Talla- 
poosa  River,  in  Alabama,  and  how,  crippled  and  worn 
out,  he  finally  gave  himself  up  to  Old  Hickory. 

Davy  Crockett  was  one  of  the  first  to  enlist  with 


144  FAMOUS    SCOUTS 

the  army  of  white  avengers  and,  with  his  trusty  flint- 
lock called  "  Old  Betsey,"  was  prominent  in  all  the  fierce 
battles  of  this  campaign.  But  food  was  scarce,  and 
he  had  to  leave  the  marching  troops  on  more  than  one 
occasion  in  order  to  get  enough  to  keep  himself  alive. 
In  the  campaign  of  Horseshoe  Bend,  hear  his  own 
words  upon  the  condition  of  himself  and  the  army: 

"And  now,  seeing  that  every  fellow  must  shift  for 
himself,  I  determined  that  in  the  morning  I  would 
come  up  missing;  so  I  took  my  mess  (gun  and  equip- 
ment) and  cut  out  to  go  ahead  of  the  army.  We 
knowed  that  nothing  more  could  happen  to  us  if  we 
went  than  if  we  staid,  for  it  looked  like  it  was  to  be 
starvation  any  way;  we  therefore  determined  to  go  on 
the  old  saying, '  root  hog  or  die.' 

"We  passed  two  camps  at  which  our  men  who 
had  gone  on  before  us  had  killed  Indians.  At  one 
they  had  killed  nine,  at  the  other  three.  About  day- 
light we  came  to  a  small  river,  which  I  thought  was  the 
Scamby;  but  we  continued  on  for  three  days,  killing 
little  or  nothing  to  eat,  till  at  last  we  all  began  to 
get  ready  to  give  up  the  ghost  and  lie  down  and  die; 
for  we  had  no  prospect  of  provision,  and  we  knew  we 
couldn't  go  much  further  without  it. 

"We  came  to  a  large  prairie,  that  was  about  six 
miles  across  it,  and  in  this  I  saw  a  trail  which  I  knew 
was  made  by  bear,  deer  and  turkeys.  We  went  on 
through  it  until  we  came  to  a  large  creek,  and  the  low 
grounds  were  all  set  over  with  wild  rye,  looking  as  green 
as  a  wheat  field.  We  here  made  a  halt,  unsaddled 
our  horses,  and  turned  them  loose  to  graze. 


DAVY   CROCKETT  145 

"One  of  my  companions,  a  Mr.  Vanzant,  and  my- 
self, then  went  up  the  low  grounds  to  hunt.  We  had 
gone  some  distance,  finding  nothing,  when  at  last 
I  found  a  squirrel,  which  I  shot,  but  he  had  got  into  a 
hole  in  a  tree.  The  game  was  small,  but  necessity  is 
not  very  particular,  so  I  thought  I  must  have  him, 
and  I  climbed  that  tree  thirty  feet  high,  without  a 
limb,  and  pulled  him  out  of  his  hole.  I  shouldn't  relate 
such  small  matters,  only  to  show  to  what  lengths  a 
hungry  man  will  go  to  get  something  to  eat. 

"I  soon  killed  two  other  squirrels  and  fired  at  a 
large  hawk.  At  this  a  gang  of  turkeys  rose  from  the 
canebrake  and  flew  across  the  creek  to  where  my 
friend  was,  who  had  just  before  crossed  it.  He  soon 
fired  on  a  large  gobbler  and  I  heard  it  fall.  By  this 
time  my  gun  was  loaded  again,  and  I  saw  one  sitting  on 
my  side  of  the  creek,  so  I  blazed  away  and  brought 
him  down,  and  a  fine  turkey  he  was. 

"I  now  began  to  think  we  had  struck  a  breeze  of 
luck,  and  almost  forgot  our  past  sufferings  in  the  prospect 
of  once  more  having  something  to  eat.  I  raised  a 
shout  and  my  comrade  came  to  me,  and  we  went  on  to 
the  camp  with  the  game  we  had  killed." 

Such  was  the  way  that  the  frontier  soldier  was 
forced  to  live.  Nowadays  he  grumbles  at  the  beef,  at 
the  hard-tack,  at  everything.  Then  men  lived  on  the 
country,  were  cheerful,  said  nothing,  and  fought  like 
Trojans.  Having  nothing,  they  expected  nothing, 
and  with  a  grim  humor  that  is  inspiring,  campaigned 
and  marched  like  true  heroes.  When  General  Jackson 
met  the  Indians,  at  what  is  called  Hickory  Ground,  and 


146  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

concluded  a  treaty  of  peace  with  them,  Crockett  and 
all  the  rest  returned  to  their  log  cabins.  It  had  been 
a  hard,  a  gruelling,  but  a  successful  campaign. 

Soon  after  his  return  Crockett's  young  wife,  worn 
out  by  hard  work,  worry,  and  exposure  during  his 
absence  at  the  front,  died.  But  the  genial  frontiers- 
man's grief  was  short.  He  soon  married  again  and 
moved  still  further  into  the  wilderness,  where  wild  game 
was  abundant,  and  bears  were  very  numerous.  In  one 
winter  this  stout-bodied  man  of  the  woods  killed  one 
hundred  and  five  bears,  which  surpasses  anything  on 
record  in  the  annals  of  American  hunters  of  Brother 
Bruin.  Here  is  a  description  of  one  of  his  fights  with 
the  monarch  of  the  canebrakes,  told  in  his  own  words: 

"I  went  on  about  three  miles,  when  I  came  to  a 
good  big  creek,  which  I  waded.  It  was  very  cold 
and  the  creek  was  about  knee  deep;  but  I  felt  no  great 
inconvenience  from  it  just  then,  as  I  was  wet  all  over 
with  perspiration  from  running,  and  I  felt  hot  enough. 
After  I  got  over  this  creek  and  out  of  the  cane,  which 
was  very  thick  on  all  our  creeks,  I  listened  for  my  dogs. 
I  found  they  had  either  treed  or  brought  the  bear  to  a 
stop,  as  they  continued  barking  in  the  same  place. 

"I  pushed  on,  as  near  in  the  direction  of  the  noise 
as  I  could,  till  I  found  that  the  hill  was  too  steep  for 
me  to  climb,  and  so  I  backed  and  went  down  the  creek 
some  distance,  till  I  came  to  a  hollow,  and  then  took 
up  that,  till  I  came  to  a  place  where  I  could  climb  up 
the  hill.  It  was  mighty  dark,  and  was  difficult  to  see 
my  way,  or  anything  else.  When  I  got  up  the  hill  I 
found  I  had  passed  the  dogs,  and  so  I  turned  and  went 


DAVY   CROCKETT  147 

to  them.  I  found  when  I  got  there  they  had  treed  a 
bear  in  a  large,  forked  poplar,  and  Bruin  was  sitting  in 
the  fork. 

"  I  could  see  the  lump  [on  his  back],  but  not  plain 
enough  to  shoot  with  any  certainty,  as  there  was  no 
moonlight;  and  so  I  set  in  to  hunting  for  some  dry 
brush  to  make  me  a  light,  but  I  could  find  none,  though 
I  could  find  that  the  ground  was  torn  mightily  to  pieces 
by  the  cracks. 

"At  last  I  thought  I  could  shoot  by  guess,  and  kill 
him;  so  I  pointed  as  near  the  lump  as  I  could  and  fired 
away.  But  the  bear  didn't  come;  he  only  clumb  up 
higher,  and  got  out  on  a  limb,  which  helped  me  to  see 
him  better.  I  now  loaded  up  again  and  fired,  but  this 
time  he  didn't  move  at  all. 

"I  commenced  loading  for  a  third  time,  but  the 
first  thing  I  knowed,  the  bear  was  down  among  my 
dogs,  and  they  were  fighting  all  around  me.  I  had 
my  big  butcher  [knife]  in  my  belt,  and  I  had  a  pair 
of  dressed  buckskin  breeches  on.  So  I  took  out  my 
knife  and  stood  determined  if  he  should  get  hold  of 
me  to  defend  myself  in  the  best  way  I  could. 

"I  stood  there  for  some  time  and  could  now  and 
then  see  a  white  dog  I  had,  but  the  rest  of  them,  and 
the  bear,  which  were  dark  colored,  I  couldn't  see  at  all, 
it  was  so  miserable  dark. 

"  They  still  fought  around  me,  and  sometimes  within 
three  feet  of  me,  but  at  last  the  bear  got  down  into 
one  of  the  cracks  that  the  earthquakes  had  made  in  the 
ground,  about  four  feet  deep,  and  I  could  hear  the 
biting  end  of  him,  by  the  hollering  of  the  dogs.  So  I 


148  FAMOUS    SCOUTS 

took  my  gun  and  pushed  the  muzzle  of  it  about  until 
I  thought  I  had  it  against  the  main  part  of  his  body, 
and  fired;  but  it  happened  to  be  only  the  fleshy  part 
of  his  foreleg.  With  this  he  jumped  out  of  the  crack, 
and  he  and  the  dogs  had  another  hard  fight  around  me, 
as  before.  At  last,  however,  they  forced  him  back 
into  the  crack  again,  as  he  was  when  I  had  shot. 

"I  had  laid  down  my  gun  in  the  dark,  and  now  I 
began  to  hunt  for  it;  and  while  hunting  I  got  hold  of  a 
pole,  and  I  concluded  that  I  would  punch  him  awhile 
with  that.  I  did  so,  and  when  I  would  punch  him, 
the  dogs  would  in  on  him,  when  he  would  bite  them 
badly,  and  they  would  jump  out  again. 

"  I  concluded,  as  he  would  take  punching  so  patiently, 
it  might  be  that  he  would  lie  still  enough  for  me  to  get 
down  in  the  crack,  and  feel  slowly  along  till  I  could 
find  the  right  place  to  give  him  a  dig  with  my  butcher. 
So  I  got  down,  and  my  dogs  got  in  before  him  and  kept 
his  head  towards  them,  till  I  got  along  easily  up  to  him, 
and  placing  my  hand  on  his  rump,  felt  for  his  shoulder, 
just  behind  which  I  intended  to  stick  him.  I  made  a 
lunge  with  my  long  knife,  and  fortunately  stuck  him 
right  through  the  heart,  at  which  he  just  sunk  down, 
and  I  crawled  out  in  a  hurry.  In  a  little  time  my  dogs 
all  come  [came]  out,  too,  and  seemed  satisfied,  which 
was  a  way  they  always  had  of  telling  me  that  they 
had  finished  him." 

This  was  one  of  hundreds  of  battles,  and  so  success- 
ful was  rough  old  Davy  in  killing  off  the  midnight 
marauders  of  the  hog-pens,  sheep-folds  and  melon 
patches  of  the  neighboring  pioneers,  that  he  was  soon 


DAVY    CROCKETT  149 

the  most  welcome  guest  at  every  fireside.    And  he 
thoroughly  enjoyed  his  life  in  the  wild  woodland. 

When  Crockett  went  to  Washington  shortly  after- 
wards, as  a  Congressman,  his  rough  backwoods  manner, 
quaint  humor  and  generous  frame  won  him  many 
friends  and  admirers  in  the  capitol.  Soon  after  his 
arrival,  he  was  invited  to  the  WTiite  House  to  dine 
with  President  Adams,  who  was  a  man  of  the  highest 
culture.  Of  this  affair  he  says  in  his  diary: 

"I  was  wild  from  the  backwoods  and  didn't  know 
nothing  about  eating  dinner  with  the  big  folks  of  our 
country.  And  how  should  I,  having  been  a  hunter 
all  my  life?  I  had  eat  most  of  my  dinners  on  a  log  hi 
the  woods,  and  sometimes  no  dinner  at  all.  I  knew 
whether  I  ate  dinner  with  the  President,  or  not,  was  a 
matter  of  no  importance,  for  my  constituents  were  not 
to  be  benefited  by  it.  I  did  not  go  to  court  the  Presi- 
dent, for  I  was  opposed  to  him  in  principle,  and  had  no 
favors  to  ask  at  his  hands.  I  was  afraid,  however, 
that  I  should  be  awkward,  as  I  was  so  entirely  a  stranger 
to  fashion;  and  in  going  along  I  resolved  to  observe 
the  conduct  of  my  friend  Mr.  Verplank,  and  to  do  as  he 
did.  And  I  know  that  I  did  behave  myself  right  well." 

But  did  he  behave  himself  well?  Some  joker 
wrote  the  following  laughable  account  of  this  dinner 
party,  which  was  widely  circulated  among  the  news- 
papers, and  caused  many  a  smile.  Crockett  is  sup- 
posed to  be  giving  his  own  version  of  the  affair: 

"The  first  thing  I  did  after  I  got  to  Washington 
was  to  go  to  the  President's.  I  stepped  into  the  Presi- 
dent's house.  Thinks  I,  who's  afeard.  If  I  didn't, 


150  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

I  wish  I  may  be  shot.  Says  I,  'Mr.  Adams,  I  am  Mr. 
Crockett,  from  Tennessee/  'So/  says  he,  'How  d'ye 
do,  Mr.  Crockett?'  And  he  shook  me  by  the  hand, 
although  I  knowed  he  went  the  whole  hog  for  Jackson. 
If  he  didn't,  I  wish  I  may  be  shot. 

"Not  only  that,  but  he  sent  me  a  printed  ticket  to 
dine  with  him.  I've  got  it  in  my  pocket  yet.  I  went 
to  dinner,  and  I  walked  all  around  the  long  table, 
looking  for  something  that  I  liked.  At  last  I  took  my 
seat  beside  a  fat  goose,  and  I  helped  myself  to  as  much 
of  it  as  I  wanted.  But  I  hadn't  took  three  bites,  when 
I  looked  away  up  the  table  at  a  man  they  call  Task 
(a  foreign  attach^  to  an  embassy,  or  legation).  He 
was  talking  French  to  a  woman  on  t'other  side  of  the 
table.  He  dodged  his  head  and  she  dodged  hers,  and 
then  they  got  to  drinking  wine  across  the  table. 

"  But  when  I  looked  back  again  my  plate  was  gone,  — 
goose  and  all.  So  I  j'ist  cast  my  eyes  down  to  t'other 
end  of  the  table  and,  sure  enough,  I  seed  a  black  man 
walking  off  with  my  plate.  I  says,  'Hello,  Mister, 
bring  back  my  plate!'  He  fetched  it  back  in  a  hurry. 
And  when  he  set  it  down  before  me,  how  do  you  think 
it  was?  Licked  as  clean  as  my  hand.  If  it  wasn't,  I 
wish  I  may  be  shot! 

"Says  he,  'What  will  you  have,  sir?'  And  says  I, 
'You  may  well  say  that,  after  stealing  my  goose.'  And 
he  began  to  laugh.  Then  says  I,  'Mister,  laugh  if  you 
please;  but  I  don't  half  like  sich  tricks  upon  travellers.' 
I  then  filled  my  plate  with  bacon  and  greens.  And 
whenever  I  looked  up  or  down  the  table,  I  held  on  to 
my  plate  with  my  left  hand. 


DAVY   CROCKETT  151 

"When  we  were  all  done  eating,  they  cleared  every- 
thing off  the  table,  and  took  away  the  tablecloth. 
And  what  do  you  think?  There  was  another  cloth 
under  it.  If  there  wasn't,  I  wish  I  may  be  shot!  Then 
I  saw  a  man  coming  along  carrying  a  great  glass  thing, 
with  a  glass  handle  below,  something  like  a  candle-stick. 
It  was  stuck  full  of  little  glass  cups,  with  something 
in  them  that  looked  good  to  eat.  Says  I,  'Mister, 
bring  that  thing  here.'  Thinks  I,  let's  taste  them 
first.  They  were  mighty  sweet  and  good,  so  I  took 
six  of  them.  If  I  didn't,  I  wish  I  may  be  shot." 

In  spite  of  the  fun  thus  poked  at  him,  Crockett 
was  honest,  honorable,  and  served  his  constituents 
well.  It  is  he  who  coined  the  famous  motto,  which  he 
endeavored  to  live  up  to,  to  the  best  of  his  ability, 
"Be  sure  you're  right,  then  go  ahead" 

In  fact,  for  the  sake  of  his  political  future,  he  served 
this  only  too  well  for,  shortly  disagreeing  with  self- 
willed  old  Andrew  Jackson,  who  had  been  elected 
President  of  the  Republic,  and  was  a  popular  idol,  his 
antagonism  to  the  wish  of  the  chief  executive  lost  him 
many  votes  in  his  own  State.  Said  the  stout  old 
Indian  fighter  and  bear  hunter,  "  I  refuse  to  wear  a  collar 
around  my  neck  labelled, '  My  Dog  —  Andrew  Jackson,' " 
and  on  many  points  he  thwarted  the  iron  will  of  Old 
Hickory. 

For  a  time  Crockett's  popularity  was  great.  He 
was  feasted  and  wined  hi  Philadelphia,  Louisville,  Boston 
and  New  York,  where  he  delivered  many  quaintly 
humorous,  but  sensible,  addresses.  In  Philadelphia 
his  admirers  presented  him  with  a  splendid  modern 


152  FAMOUS    SCOUTS 

rifle  and  hunting  horn,  which  the  mighty  hunter  soon 
put  in  the  place  of  trusty  "Old  Betsy."  This  turned 
the  once  simple  bear  hunter's  head.  He  even  aspired 
for  the  Presidency,  although  ignorant  of  book  learning, 
wholly  destitute  of  the  refinements  which  he  knew 
that  the  chief  of  the  nation  should  possess,  and  not 
even  able  to  speak  correct  grammar.  He  believed  him- 
self thoroughly  able  to  fill  the  Presidential  chair,  for 
popular  applause  had  turned  his  head. 

But  how  fickle  is  Dame  Fortune!  He  ran  again 
for  Congress,  only  to  find  that  his  popularity,  though 
increasing  abroad,  had  lessened  at  home.  Dressing 
himself  in  hunting  clothes,  with  his  rifle  over  his  shoulder, 
he  attended  all  of  the  conventions  and  threw  himself 
heart  and  soul  into  the  canvass  for  election,  which  was 
a  red  hot  one.  His  speeches  were  the  best  and  most 
interesting  that  he  had  ever  delivered,  but  all  of  his 
jokes,  philosophy,  reasoning  and  eloquence  availed  him 
nothing,  for  he  was  defeated  by  a  majority  of  two 
hundred  and  thirty  votes  and,  smarting  from  the  sting 
of  defeat,  retired  to  his  cabin,  a  broken-hearted  and 
crestfallen  man. 

How  often  we  ourselves  have  seen  this  in  our  own 
lives.  At  school,  I  have  seen  the  boy  defeated  for 
the  captaincy  of  the  football  eleven  sulk  for  a  month. 
I  have  seen  the  older  youth  who  failed  to  get  a  marshal- 
ship  in  the  class  day  elections,  at  college,  leave  the 
university  with  such  bitterness  in  his  heart  that  it  took 
a  full  year  or  more  for  the  feeling  to  wear  off.  I  have 
seen  defeated  Congressmen  most  dispirited  in  their 
defeat,  —  and  it  has  been  my  ill  fortune  to  see  many 


DAVY   CROCKETT  153 

a  statesman  who  has  aspired  to  higher  position  than 
that  of  Representative,  so  crestfallen  by  disappointed 
ambition  that  his  days  were  shortened.  This  is,  and 
always  will  be,  an  every-day  occurrence,  and  one  which 
the  world  of  struggling  men  will  always  know.  Is  it 
a  wonder,  then,  that  this  extraordinary  backwoodsman, 
elevated  from  abject  poverty  to  a  position  of  prominence 
in  the  councils  of  the  nation,  should  be  chagrined, 
mortified,  crestfallen  by  the  vote  of  disapproval  of  his 
course  of  action,  when  shortly  before  the  papers  had 
been  full  of  his  name,  and  thousands  had  crowded  to 
hear  the  words  of  the  quaint,  sensible,  old  pioneer? 

Not  willing  to  remain  longer  in  his  home  district, 
Crockett  turned  his  eyes  towards  Texas,  which  then 
was  warring  with  Mexico  for  its  independence,  and 
offered  a  life  of  excitement  for  the  stout-hearted  and 
clean-shooting  man. 

"As  my  country  no  longer  requires  my  services,  I 
have  made  up  my  mind  to  go  to  Texas,"  he  has  written. 
"My  life  has  been  one  of  danger,  toil  and  privation. 
But  these  difficulties  I  had  to  encounter  at  a  time  when 
I  considered  it  nothing  more  than  right  good  sport  to 
surmount  them;  but  now  I  start  anew  upon  my  own 
hook,  and  God  only  grant  that  it  may  be  strong  enough 
to  support  the  weight  that  may  be  hung  upon  it.  I 
have  a  new  row  to  hoe,  a  long  and  a  rough  one,  but  come 
what  will,  I'll  go  ahead." 

We  now  come  to  the  last  incident  in  the  life  of  this 
remarkable  man;  an  incident  as  dramatic  as  that  of 
the  hero  of  any  melodrama.  It  is  a  story  which  will 
live  forever,  for  of  the  men  who  defended  the  Alamo, 


154  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

not  one  lived  to  tell  of  the  battle.  As  is  well  carved 
upon  the  monument  which  marks  the  scene  of  this 
famous  fight, 

"  Thermopylae  had  its  messenger  of  defeat, 
The  Alamo  had  none." 

When  Crockett,  heart-sick  and  weary,  left  his  wife 
and  children  —  for  he  had  several  —  to  cross  over  the 
Mississippi  and  enter  the  Lone  Star  State,  the  political 
condition  there  was  as  follows: 

A  Republican  Government  was  in  vogue  in  Mexico, 
for  in  1821  this  former  dependency  had  revolted  from 
Spain  and,  after  a  certain  Iturbide  had  assumed  the 
government,  with  the  title  of  Emperor,  he  had  been 
deposed  hi  favor  of  a  Republic.  Of  this  Republic, 
Texas,  with  the  province  of  Coahuila,  became  one  of 
the  northeastern  states.  Americans  had  flocked  into 
this  rich  country,  and  at  the  time  of  Davy  Crockett's 
emigration  there  were  fully  twenty  thousand  settlers 
of  Anglo-Saxon  descent  in  the  then,  and  yet,  fertile 
soil  of  what  is  called  the  Lone  Star  State.  They  were 
honest,  law-abiding  citizens,  for  the  most  part,  good 
shots  and  impatient  of  discipline  or  restraint. 

In  1833  the  Presidential  office  was  seized  by  a  Mexican 
who  called  himself  "The  Napoleon  of  the  West."  His 
real  name  was  Antonio  Lopez  de  Santa  Anna,  but 
unlike  the  real  Napoleon,  he  was  as  blood-thirsty  and 
tyrannous  as  Black  Beard,  the  Buccaneer.  The  heavy 
hand  of  this  black-haired  dictator  was  soon  laid  upon 
Texas,  and  it  was  made  law  that  the  Americans  must 
give  up  their  arms,  —  their  only  defense  against  Indians, 


DAVY   CROCKETT  155 

and  means  of  killing  game.  The  Mexican  government 
prohibited  slavery  in  Texas,  the  stout  pioneers  refused 
to  yield  up  their  black  retainers,  and,  preferring  war 
to  acquiescence  in  the  demands  of  these  whom  they 
called  "Greasers,"  settled  down  to  actual  hostilities. 
A  Declaration  of  Independence  was  signed  March  2d, 
1836.  The  Americans  first  assumed  the  offensive  and 
drove  the  Mexican  soldiers  from  the  city  of  San  Antonio 
de  Bexar. 

Near  this  town  was  the  Mission  of  San  Antonio  de 
Valero,  called  the  Mission  del  Alamo,  which  means 
the  mission  house  of  the  cotton-wood  tree.  It  had  here 
been  established  in  1722  and  was  built  in  the  form  of 
a  parallelogram,  fifty  by  one  hundred  and  fifty  yards. 
It  had  "  walls  of  eighteen  or  twenty  feet  in  height,  and 
no  less  than  four  or  five  feet  in  thickness.  Within  its 
limits  was  a  large  stone  church.  On  the  east  and  west 
parallel  walls  were  constructed  on  the  inside,  fifteen 
feet  from  the  outer  walls.  Beams  were  laid  from  one 
to  the  other,  a  few  feet  from  the  top,  and  the  space 
filled  by  beaten  earth.  Doors  opened  through  the 
inner  wall  to  the  space  between  the  two,  which  was 
divided  into  a  number  of  small  rooms  for  the  accom- 
modation of  the  garrison.  Fourteen  small  pieces  of 
artillery  were  mounted  upon  the  walls,  including  three 
in  the  chancel  of  the  church.  There  was  an  excellent 
water  supply." 

How  many  Americans  were  here?  At  first  one 
hundred  and  forty  men,  but  to  this  force,  early  in  1836, 
came  the  reinforcement  of  Davy  Crockett  with  twelve 
pioneers  from  Tennessee,  clad  in  tanned  hunting  shirts, 


156  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

with  coonskin  caps,  long  bowie  knives  and  flintlock 
rifles.  Lieutenant-colonel  William  Barrett  Travis  was 
in  command,  and  he  was  assisted  by  Colonel  James 
Bowie  of  Georgia,  —  from  whom  the  long,  keen  fighting- 
knives  took  their  name.  Travis  was  only  twenty- 
eight  years  of  age,  was  a  lawyer,  tall,  lean  and  red- 
headed. He  was  full  of  grit  and  courage. 

Enraged  by  the  attack  of  the  Americans,  Santa 
Anna  marched  to  revenge  the  defeat  of  General  Cos, 
who  had  commanded  the  Mexican  troops.  "I  will 
wreak  a  desperate  vengeance  upon  the  Texans,"  said  he. 
"No  one  who  withstands  me  shall  live.  I  shall  sow 
the  land  with  salt,  so  that  no  green  thing  shall  grow 
there." 

On  the  25th  of  February,  1836,  the  Alamo  was 
attacked  by  an  advance  division  of  Santa  Anna's  army 
consisting  of  sixteen  hundred  men.  They  were  driven 
off  with  ease,  but  Santa  Anna  was  coming  up  with 
his  main  force,  and  soon  five  thousand  yellow-skinned, 
black-eyed  soldiers  halted  before  the  fort.  It  was 
enough  to  make  any  leader  quail,  but  Colonel  Travis 
was  a  veritable  game  cock.  He  had  been  ordered  by 
General  Houston  to  fall  back  upon  the  main  American 
arm}r  in  the  rear,  but  a  feeling  of  reckless  daring  was 
stronger  in  him  than  the  feeling  of  military  subordina- 
tion. He  would  not  move,  and  now  it  was  too  late. 

From  February  25th  to  March  2d  the  Mexicans  threw 
up  intrenchments  around  the  Alamo  and,  erecting 
batteries,  began  to  bombard  the  place.  The  garrison 
was  told  to  surrender  and  Santa  Anna  displayed  a  red 
ensign,  signifying  that  no  quarter  would  be  given.  The 


DAVY  CROCKETT  157 

flag  of  Texas  was  defiantly  flaunted  in  his  face,  and 
Travis  dispatched  a  letter  addressed  to  the  people 
of  Texas  and  the  Americans  in  the  world,  praying  for 
assistance.  It  was  carried  safely  through  the  Mexican 
lines  by  a  scout,  and  here  is  what  those  who  saw  it  read: 

"To  THE  PEOPLE  OF  TEXAS  AND  ALL 
AMERICANS  IN  THE  WORLD. 

"  Commandacy  of  the  Alamo. 
"  Fellow  Citizens  and  Compatriots: 

"I  am  beseiged  by  a  thousand  or  more  of  the  Mexi- 
cans under  Santa  Anna.  I  have  sustained  a  continual 
bombardment  for  twenty-four  hours  and  have  not  lost 
a  man.  The  enemy  have  demanded  a  surrender  at 
discretion;  otherwise  the  garrison  is  to  be  put  to  the 
sword  if  the  place  is  taken.  I  have  answered  the 
Bummons  with  a  cannon  shot  and  our  flag  still  waves 
proudly  from  the  walls.  I  shall  never  surrender  or 
retreat.  Then,  I  call  upon  you,  in  the  name  of  liberty, 
of  patriotism,  and  of  everything  dear  to  the  American 
character,  to  come  to  our  aid  with  all  dispatch.  The 
enemy  are  receiving  reinforcements  daily  and  will  no 
doubt  increase  to  three  or  four  thousand  in  four  or  five 
days.  Though  this  call  may  be  neglected,  I  am  de- 
termined to  sustain  myself  as  long  as  possible  and  die 
like  a  soldier  who  never  forgets  what  is  due  to  his  own 
honor  and  that  of  his  country.  Victory  or  death! 

"W.  BARRETT  TRAVIS, 
"  Lieutenant-colonel  Commanding. 

"T.S.  The  Lord  is  on  our  side.  When  the  army 
appeared  in  sight  we  had  not  three  bushels  of  corn. 


158  FAMOUS    SCOUTS 

We  have  since  found  in  deserted  houses  eighty  or  ninety 
bushels  and  got  into  the  walls  twenty  or  thirty  beeves." 

Oh,  unfortunate  garrison!  Of  all  of  those  who 
read  this  message,  only  thirty-two  heroic  plainsmen 
reached  them,  although  three  hundred  men  started 
for  the  Alamo  from  a  point  two  hundred  miles  to  the 
southeast.  Those  who  dashed  through  the  Mexican 
lines  on  horseback,  cut  their  way  into  the  old  Mission 
at  three  in  the  morning  of  March  1st,  led  by  Captain 
J.  W.  Smith.  The  three  hundred  never  arrived,  for 
their  ammunition  wagons  broke  down,  their  provisions 
gave  out,  and  they  could  not  get  the  artillery  through 
the  river  quicksands.  But  now  there  were  one  hundred 
and  eighty  against  the  five  thousand.  Let  us  see  how 
they  fought! 

On  the  4th  of  March  a  Mexican  council  of  war  was 
held,  and  it  was  determined  to  carry  the  Mission  of 
Alamo  by  assault  on  the  6th  of  March,  as  soon  as  day 
should  break.  Santa  Anna  smiled  with  joy.  He  was 
like  a  wild  beast,  for  the  long  resistance  had  stung  his 
hot-headed,  Spanish-American  pride. 

Word  was  brought  to  Colonel  Travis  of  the  expected 
attack.  He  assembled  his  band  of  courageous  lion 
hearts  within  the  little  court  of  the  Alamo,  now  torn 
with  shot  and  shell,  but  once  the  peaceful  walk  of 
black-capped  Franciscan  friars. 

Solemnly  tracing  a  long  line  with  the  point  of  his 
sword,  he  said: 

"Men,  unless  reinforcements  reach  us  from  General 
Houston's  army  before  tomorrow  morning,  the  Alamo 


DAVY   CROCKETT  159 

will  be  assaulted  by  this  overwhelming  force.  There 
are  three  courses  to  pursue.  First:  we  can  surrender 
on  the  best  terms  that  can  be  made  and  take  our  chances 
for  life,  which  are  minute.  Second:  we  can  attempt 
to  cut  our  way  out  and  retreat,  when  some  of  us  will 
get  through.  Third:  we  can  remain  here  and  die  like 
men,  for  our  country.  As  for  myself,  this  last  shall 
be  my  own  course.  All  who  wish  to  die  with  me  can 
cross  the  line  which  I  have  drawn  with  my  sword." 

As  he  ceased  speaking,  every  man  crossed  the  line. 
Even  the  ill  Colonel  Bowie,  who  was  prostrate  upon 
his  cot,  called  loudly  for  the  fighters  to  pick  him  up 
and  carry  him  across  the  line,  which  was  done  im- 
mediately. 

Before  daylight  next  morn  the  Mexican  bugler 
shrilled  in  the  early  murk.  As  the  Texans  peered  over 
the  thick  walls  of  the  Spanish  Mission,  they  saw  the 
entire  Mexican  army  forming  in  two  lines  for  the  assault. 
Cavalry  was  upon  the  flanks,  and  the  officers  waved 
their  swords  wildly  over  their  heads. 

Crash!    Crash! 

The  batteries  now  opened,  and  grape,  cannister  and 
solid  shot  ploughed  furrows  into  the  stout  adobe  bar- 
ricades. 

Crash!    Crash!    Crash! 

The  troops  opened  with  volleys  of  musketry.  Away 
back  in  the  rear,  an  officer  in  white  uniform  upon  a 
careering  mustang,  galloped  about,  giving  orders,  en- 
couraging the  men,  and  swearing  lustily  in  Spanish. 
It  was  Santa  Anna,  the  commander-in-chief. 

Crash!    Ta-ra-ta-ta! 


160  FAMOUS    SCOUTS 

As  the  last  volley  roared  its  evil  welcome,  the  bugles 
blew  the  advance.  With  a  wild,  beast-like  yell  the 
Mexican  troops  rushed  at  the  battered  walls  of  the 
old  Mission.  The  sputtering  fire  from  the  rifles  of 
the  Americans  soon  turned  into  a  ringing  volley.  Deep 
gaps  appeared  in  the  lines  of  Santa  Anna's  followers. 
They  recoiled.  They  broke.  They  ran  to  a  safe  posi- 
tion away  from  the  deadly  range  of  the  guns  of  the 
pioneers.  Scaling  ladders  had  been  rushed  forward, 
and  many  of  these  lay  derelict  upon  the  yellow  soil. 
The  Texans  cheered,  for  they  believed  that  the  enemy 
might  not  return.  But  the  Mexicans  had  only  stopped 
to  re-form. 

Ta-ra-ta-ta! 

Again  the  clear  wail  of  the  bugle  hurled  the  white- 
uniformed  column  against  the  Alamo.  Again  the 
close-formed  ranks  met  a  fire  that  was  death  dealing. 
The  Mexicans  broke.  They  scattered;  they  ran;  and 
their  band,  on  the  distant  prairie,  played  the  dequelo, 
which  means,  no  quarter. 

Three  batteries,  planted  on  a  commanding  hill  in 
the  rear  of  the  town,  were  sending  their  shots  against 
the  north  wall.  It  began  to  crumble  beneath  the 
sledge-hammer  blows  of  the  death-bringing  iron,  giving 
an  opening  to  the  now  infuriated  Mexican  troops. 
Santa  Anna  himself  saw  the  opening,  and  pointing 
to  it  cried  to  General  Castrillo,  "If  you  do  not  get 
into  the  fortress  now,  you  are  not  a  true  soldier,  Cas- 
trillo. Forward!" 

As  he  spoke,  with  a  wild  cheer  the  white  uniforms 
rushed  towards  that  ill-starred  northern  wall,  now 


DAVY   CROCKETT  161 

held  by  a  few  desperate  Texans  only,  for  many  had 
fallen.  Travis  —  brave  and  resolute  commander  —  fell 
pierced  with  a  ball  through  the  brain.  The  command 
fell  upon  Davy  Crockett,  the  bear  hunter,  now  shooting 
other  game  far  more  dangerous  than  that  in  the  cane- 
brakes  of  old  Tennessee.  "  On  men,"  he  shouted.  "  Do 
not  let  these  hounds  come  into  the  Alamo!" 

But  the  scaling  ladders  mounted  the  walls  of  the 
breach.  The  Texans  were  surrounded  by  fire  and 
cold  steel.  One  by  one  they  dropped,  fighting  bluntly 
and  desperately.  Crockett  ran  to  the  old  church  and 
many  followed  him  for  a  last  stand,  while  the  Mexicans, 
cursing  and  yelling,  chased  after  them,  swords  drawn, 
bayonets  red  with  blood,  pistols  spitting  like  angry  cats. 

No  quarter!  The  refrain  of  the  band  echoed  over 
the  roof  of  the  old  church  of  God,  where  often  the  Psalms 
from  the  soft-throated  choir  rang  from  the  sacred 
chancel.  Forty  Mexicans  fell  dead  before  the  door  of 
the  long  room  where  were  Davy  Crockett  and  his  men. 
Bowie  lay  alone  in  his  chamber,  but  a  brownish  yellow 
face  appeared  at  the  door,  a  knife  flashed,  and  the  soul 
of  the  old  frontiersman  had  gone  above. 

Crash!  Crash!  The  cannon  battered  down  the 
door  of  the  long  room  where  Crockett  remained,  with 
the  last  remnant  of  the  little  Texan  army.  "Fire  the 
magazine!"  cried  the  old  bear  hunter  to  Major  Evans, 
the  only  officer  remaining.  The  obedient  soldier  ran 
to  the  room  where  the  powder  was  stored,  but  was 
stricken  down  as  he  reached  the  door.  The  Mexican 
bayonets  pointed  at  the  breast  of  the  old  pioneer.  With 
the  butt  of  his  musket  he  swept  a  way  clear  before  him. 


162  FAMOUS    SCOUTS 

Fully  a  dozen  lay  piled  up  around  this  stout-hearted 
remnant  of  the  Texan  army,  in  his  last  death  grapple. 
Then,  crack!  a  shot  rang  out,  and  Davy  Crockett 
fell  headlong  upon  his  face.  It  was  all  over. 

Santa  Anna  smoked  a  cigarette  and  chatted  pleas- 
antly with  his  yellow-faced  officers.  It  had  been  a 
good  hour's  work. 

"Put  them  in  a  big  pile/'  said  he.  "We'll  burn 
them,  as  did  the  Greeks  of  old." 

The  hundred  and  eighty-two  dead  Texan-Americans 
were  gathered  together  and  arranged  in  a  huge  pyramid; 
first  a  layer  of  wood,  then  a  layer  of  dead  men,  until 
a  huge  pyre  was  erected.  Now  four  soldiers  walked 
around  the  mass,  each  carrying  a  can  of  camphine, 
which  was  poured  upon  both  men  and  wooden  faggots. 
A  match  was  applied,  and  the  defenders  of  the  Alamo 
were  burned  to  dust.  So  ended  the  life  of  Davy 
Crockett:  bear  hunter,  pioneer,  Congressman,  and  de- 
fender of  Texan  liberty. 

The  little  hawk  hangs  aloft,  in  the  air; 
The  shy  coyote  trots  here  mid  there; 
His  gallant  spirit  lingers  there, 
In  Texas, 

Down  by  the  Rio  Grande. 


GENERAL  SAM  HOUSTON:  THE 
SAVIOR  OF  TEXAS 

CRISES  make  men  of  mark.  Never  is  there  a 
war,  or  a  great  political  upheaval,  but  some 
one  individual  comes  forward  to  lead  a  success- 
ful charge,  or  preach  an  effective  doctrine,  which  marks 
him  with  prominence.  The  world  is  full  of  heroes. 
It  is  the  stirring  event  which  brings  out  the  manhood 
in  the  man.  You,  yourself,  have  heroic  qualities. 
Perhaps  the  opportunity  will  come  to  you  to  distin- 
guish yourself.  Live  your  life,  try  to  do  the  right, 
and,  if  opportunity  comes,  you  may  be  written  of  by 
some  future  historian,  even  as  I  am  chronicling  the  life 
of  one  of  the  most  unusual  characters  in  all  history, 
General  Sam  Houston:  the  Savior  of  Texas. 

Half  soldier,  half  demigod:  such  was  Sam  Houston; 
a  man  brought  up  in  strange  surroundings,  thrown 
among  strange  people,  strange  events, —  and  savage 
companions.  He  lived  among  Indians  because  he 
preferred  them,  yet  represented  the  whites  of  the  great 
State  of  Texas  in  the  United  States  Senate.  He  mar- 
ried a  white  woman,  after  a  previous  marriage  with 
an  Indian,  yet  deserted  his  second  wife,  and  returned 
to  his  nomadic  existence  with  the  Cherokees  in  Ar- 
kansas. He  studied  law,  was  district  attorney,  and 
later  represented  the  whites  as  their  Indian  agent 
among  the  red  men.  Thus  back  and  forth  he  changed 

163 


164  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

his  allegiance  to  the  two  races,  yet  in  the  end  fought 
to  free  the  vast  territory  of  Texas  from  the  yoke  of 
Mexican  dictation,  —  and  was  successful.  Houston  was 
a  veritable  floating  bubble  upon  the  churning  whirl- 
pool of  frontier  civilization,  —  a  chameleon  of  border 
history. 

This  man  of  varied  fortune  was  born  in  Rockbridge 
County,  Virginia,  1793,  —  a  county  of  mountainous 
ruggedness,  which  was  then  scarcely  known  and  still 
less  scarcely  opened  to  civilization.  He  was  one  of 
nine  children  —  desperately  poor  —  as  were  most  of 
the  Virginian  mountaineers  then  and  are  today.  Re- 
moving to  Blount  County,  Tennessee,  he  alternately 
attended  school,  worked  on  his  mother's  farm,  and 
clerked  in  the  village  store.  When  about  fifteen,  he 
ran  off  and  joined  the  Cherokee  Indians  because  he 
liked  their  lazy  life  of  hunting,  fishing,  and  living  in 
the  open.  All  boys  would  like  to  be  Indians,  par- 
ticularly in  summer. 

Young  and  sprightly,  young  Sam  Houston  was 
adopted  into  the  family  of  a  lesser  chief,  —  even  mar- 
ried a  squaw,  and  when  requested  to  return  to  his 
own  people,  replied,  "I  prefer  to  measure  deer  tracks 
to  measuring  tape."  But,  when  he  was  eighteen, 
he  thought  rather  better  of  his  own  race,  —  at  least 
he  went  back  to  the  white  settlements  and  opened  a 
country  school,  where  the  tuition  was  six  to  eight  dol- 
lars a  year;  one-third  payable  in  com;  one-third  in 
cotton  goods;  and  one-third  in  cash.  When  he  was 
Senator  someone  asked  him  how  he  liked  the  title  and 
honor  of  the  position.  "Young  man,"  said  he,  to 


GENERAL    SAM    HOUSTON         165 

his  questioner,  "I  have  never  experienced  a  higher 
feeling  of  dignity  and  self  satisfaction  than  when, 
at  eighteen  years  of  age,  I  was  a  schoolmaster  in 
Tennessee." 

Soon  tiring  of  teaching  school,  he  was  made  sub- 
agent  for  the  Cherokee  Indians  in  1817,  and  was  shortly 
accused  of  abusing  his  authority,  so  he  gave  up  the 
work  to  enlist  in  the  frontier  army  under  General 
Jackson,  which  fought  the  Creeks  under  Weather- 
ford.  He  served  through  the  war  with  distinction, 
but  because  of  a  severe  rebuke  which  he  received  from 
Calhoun  —  the  Secretary  of  War  —  resigned  from  the 
service.  Houston  was  very  fond  of  gaudy  attire  and 
when  summoned  to  appear  before  the  secretary,  ap- 
peared in  the  costume  of  a  wild  Indian  of  the  Cherokee 
tribe.  From  that  time  on  he  cordially  hated  the  great 
statesman  who  had  only  too  justly  reprimanded  him. 

Civic  honors  awaited  the  young  soldier.  He  was 
twice  elected  to  Congress,  but  left  his  seat  during  his 
second  term  to  be  Governor  of  Tennessee.  The  bud- 
ding statesman  was  popular;  his  administration  met 
with  no  opposition;  and  he  apparently  was  very  happy 
when  he  married  a  beautiful  young  maiden  of  his  own 
race.  But  hi  two  weeks'  time  he  suddenly  disap- 
peared —  fled  from  the  city  in  disguise  —  and  again 
joined  the  Cherokees,  by  whom  he  was  formally  ad- 
mitted as  a  member  of  the  tribe.  He  had  resigned 
the  governorship  of  the  State  before  he  mysteriously 
made  off  to  the  redskins, —  which  was  fortunate. 

It  was  soon  rumored  that  Houston,  at  the  head 
of  a  band  of  warlike  Cherokees,  was  to  invade  Texas 


166  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

and,  after  separating  the  State  from  the  Mexican  Govern- 
ment, was  then  going  to  declare  himself  ruler  of  the 
vast,  arid  country.  So  definite  were  these  reports 
that  they  reached  the  ears  of  President  Andrew  Jack- 
son, who  wrote  immediately  to  the  self-appointed 
Cherokee,  asking  him  to  refrain  from  any  attack  upon 
Texas.  Fearing  that,  like  Aaron  Burr,  Houston 
would  endeavor  to  form  another  Republic,  Jackson 
confidentially  directed  the  secretary  of  the  State  of 
Arkansas  to  keep  him  informed  of  any  movements 
upon  the  part  of  the  wild  Sam  Houston  which  might 
tend  to  prove  that  he  contemplated  an  outbreak.  After 
a  time,  Old  Hickory  was  overjoyed  to  hear  that  there 
was  no  such  movement  on  foot.  Sam  Houston  was 
appointed  a  confidential  Indian  agent  to  the  tribes 
of  the  southwest,  in  1832,  and  about  this  time  he 
wandered  into  Texas,  pleased  with  the  rough  and  war- 
like life  of  the  border. 

We  now  come  to  Sam  Houston's  part  in  the  struggle 
of  Texas  for  independence,  a  part  which  has  made 
him  a  hero  of  border  history.  As  has  been  shown  in 
the  essay  upon  Davy  Crockett,  when  the  intrepid  band 
of  one  hundred  and  eighty  was  making  that  desperate 
stand  in  the  old  Mission  of  the  Alamo,  Houston, 
with  a  larger  army  of  Texan  patriots  was  far  in  the 
rear,  prepared  to  contest  still  further  the  progress  of 
the  victorious  army  of  that  "Napoleon  of  the  West," 
Santa  Anna,  the  despotic  ruler  of  the  Mexican 
Republic. 

When  news  of  the  slaughter  of  Colonel  Travis, 
Colonel  Bowie,  Davy  Crockett,  and  the  other  border 


GENERAL   SAM   HOUSTON        167 

fighters  was  brought  to  the  soldiers  under  Sam  Hous- 
ton —  for  he  had  been  appointed  leader  of  the  Texan 
army  —  the  fierce,  vindictive  cry  went  up :  "  Let 
us  avenge  the  death  of  our  comrades  in  arms,  and  let 
our  battle  cry  be,  'Remember  the  Alamo!'  No  quarter 
to  Santa  Anna's  murderers!" 

The  Texans  now  had  a  provisional  government. 
General  Austin  was  a  commissioner  to  the  United 
States  to  secure  loans  of  money  to  maintain  the 
State,  Henry  Smith  had  been  elected  governor,  and 
Houston  was  commander-in-chief  of  the  army.  He 
had  a  copy  of  Caesar's  Commentaries  on  the  Gallic 
War,  in  English,  with  him,  and  that  he  studied  daily. 
It  was  all  he  ever  read  upon  the  art  of  war. 

After  the  capture  of  the  Alamo,  Santa  Anna  did 
not  march  directly  upon  Houston's  forces,  then  in  the 
vicinity  of  Gongales  on  the  Guadalupe  River,  but 
sent  a  strong  force  under  General  Urrea  to  cut  to  pieces 
an  advance  detachment  of  Texan  rangers  under  Colonel 
Fannin,  stationed  at  Goliad,  which  you  will  find  on  the 
San  Antonio  River,  about  fifty  miles  from  the  Gulf 
of  Mexico.  Fannin  was  a  brave  young  officer  who 
was  a  soldier  of  fortune  and  had  proffered  his  services 
to  the  Texans  for  the  "  fun  there  was  in  it."  He  had 
about  five  hundred  troops,  all  Americans,  and  all 
volunteers. 

When  Fannin  was  awaiting  the  advance  of  the 
Mexicans,  a  decree  of  Santa  Anna's  was  handed  him. 
It  read: 

"Any  foreigner  (that  is  American)  captured  under 
arms  within  the  boundaries  of  the  Mexican  Republic, 


168  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

or  bearing  arms  against  the  Mexican  Government, 
shall  suffer  instant  death." 

He  also  received  an  order  from  Houston,  ordering 
him  to  retreat,  an  order  to  which  he  paid  no  attention. 

After  several  advance  parties  sent  out  by  Fannin 
had  been  captured  by  the  superior  numbers  of  the 
Mexicans,  he  began  to  retreat  to  Victoria,  on  the  Guada- 
lupe  River,  and  after  a  march  of  six  or  eight  miles 
he  halted  to  graze  the  oxen  and  refresh  the  troops. 
They  were  soon  attacked  by  the  Mexicans.  The  bat- 
tle raged  all  day.  At  night  neither  side  had  been  able 
to  win  a  victory. 

But  renewed  reinforcements  and  artillery  reached 
the  Mexicans  during  the  night.  In  the  morning  the 
Americans  fought  well  for  a  time,  and  then  put  up  a 
white  flag,  while  Colonel  Fannin  —  though  badly  crip- 
pled by  wounds  —  went  out  and  made  excellent  terms, 
by  which  the  Texans  were  to  be  received  and  treated 
as  prisoners  of  war.  That  is,  they  were  to  be  well 
looked  after  until  exchanged. 

Not  long  afterwards,  as  the  prisoners  were  discuss- 
ing their  departure  to  the  United  States,  and  some 
even  were  playing  "Home  Sweet  Home"  upon  various 
musical  instruments  which  they  had  with  them,  a 
courier  arrived  from  Santa  Anna  with  a  message  for 
General  Urrea.  The  yellow-faced  soldier  read  it, 
scowled,  and  was  seen  to  beat  furiously  upon  the  ground 
with  the  end  of  his  sabre. 

At  dawn  of  the  day  following  —  it  was  Palm  Sun- 
day—  the  Texans  were  formed  in  several  divisions, 
and  were  marched  away  in  different  directions.  Sud- 


GENERAL   SAM   HOUSTON         169 

denly  their  guards  fired  upon  the  detachments,  with- 
out warning.  The  brave  soldiers  fell  on  every  side, 
but  some  escaped  and  got  safely  off.  Thus  Santa 
Anna  —  the  man  who  wished  to  pose  as  a  Napoleon  — 
kept  to  the' terms  of  his  proclamation.  It  was  a  cruel 
and  dastardly  deed,  for  it  was  against  the  terms  of 
the  surrender  and  every  tenent  of  decency.  Is  it  a 
wonder  that  the  blood  boiled  in  the  veins  of  the  few 
troops  who  now  clustered  around  rough,  old  Sam 
Houston? 

Texas  was  practically  crushed.  Fugitives  from 
every  quarter  crowded  each  other  in  a  desperate  at- 
tempt to  reach  the  American  territory  in  the  north- 
east. Houston  himself  retreated,  for  he  hoped  to  get 
Santa  Anna  to  divide  his  forces,  come  after  him  with 
an  army  of  his  own  size,  and  then  fight.  Could  he  but 
accomplish  this,  he  knew  that  he  could  crush  the  most 
hated  man  upon  the  frontier. 

Having  taken  San  Antonio,  the  self-styled  Napoleon, 
who  was  really  a  Murat,  considered  Texas  subdued, 
and  determined  to  return  to  the  capitol,  leaving  a  sub- 
ordinate officer  to  finish  the  work.  But  tempted 
onward  by  the  taunting  presence  of  Sam  Houston's 
army,  he  followed  it  across  the  Colorado  River,  the 
Brozas,  and  the  flat  country  which  leads  up  to  the 
San  Jacinto,  flowing  into  the  Bay  of  Galveston.  He 
had  done  just  what  crafty  Sam  Houston  had  wished. 
He  had  advanced  with  only  about  twelve  hundred 
men.  The  Texans  could  muster  about  seven  hundred 
and  fifty. 

As  Houston  had  retreated,  instead  of  fighting,  his 


170  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

men  lost  heart,  and  many  of  them  called  him  "  Coward/' 
"Quitter,"  "Backslider"  and  "Traitor."  But  this 
did  not  worry  the  cool-headed  general,  whose  only 
mark  of  office  was  a  battered  scabboard,  attached  to 
a  deer  thong  around  his  waist.  Otherwise  he  wore  a 
large-brimmed,  white  felt  hat;  a  pair  of  yellow  panta- 
loons, tucked  into  a  pair  of  dilapidated  boots;  an  old 
black  coat;  a  black  vest,  and  a  cotton  shirt.  "I  hold 
no  councils  of  war,"  said  the  old  man  to  the  govern- 
ment in  the  rear.  "If  I  err  in  military  matters,  the 
blame  is  mine.  I  think  that  my  plans  are  good." 
Meanwhile,  he  was  reinforced  by  a  small  body  of  rangers' 
and  two  cannon  —  six-pounders  called  the  "  Twin 
Sisters"  — sent  to  the  army  by  citizens  of  Cincinnati, 
Ohio. 

The  disgruntled  Texans  had  long  waited  for  the 
chance  to  strike  the  enemy.  Finally  it  came  and  was 
greeted  with  wild  cheers  of  enthusiastic  patriotism. 
Learning  that  Santa  Anna  was  near  Buffalo  Bayou, 
where  once  had  stood  a  thriving  town  of  Harrisburg 
—  now  burned  and  sacked  by  the  Mexicans  —  on  the 
18th  of  April,  1836,  Houston  gave  the  word  to  "Ad- 
vance and  knock  the  pie  out  of  the  Greasers."  A  cele- 
brated scout  called  Deaf  Smith  had  brought  in  a  whole 
bag  full  of  captured  dispatches,  showing  just  where 
Santa  Anna  was  to  be  next  day.  Old  Sam  Houston 
smiled  like  the  famous  Cheshire  cat.  "By  George, 
I've  got  him,"  said  he,  slapping  the  likewise  smiling 
Smith  on  the  shoulder.  "Remember  the  Alamo, 
will  we?  Yes,  I  rather  think  that  in  a  few  days  we'll 
dine  on  fried  Mexican." 


GENERAL   SAM   HOUSTON         171 

In  fact,  Santa  Anna  —  puffed  with  egotism,  pride, 
and  self-satisfaction  —  had  pushed  into  the  enemy's 
country  with  too  small  a  force.  It  was  the  rainy  sea- 
son and  the  baggage  wagons  and  artillery  of  the  Ameri- 
cans stuck  frightfully  in  the  mire.  Old  Sam  Houston, 
himself,  put  his  shoulder  to  many  a  grumbling  wheel, 
and  with  his  tremendous  strength  shoved  it  out  of 
the  mud.  "Come,  men,  we  must  get  on!"  he  would 
say.  "  The  opportunity  for  which  I  have  been  waiting 
for  the  past  six  months  has  finally  arrived.  We  must 
catch  this  Mexican  fox  before  he  has  been  reinforced 
and  we  must  remember  the  massacre  of  Colonel  Fan- 
nin's  men  and  those  patriots  in  the  Alamo.  Push! 
Shove!  We  must  get  on!"  So  tugging,  straining, 
pulling,  the  little  army  reached  Buffalo  Bayou  —  op- 
posite the  ruins  of  Harrisburg  —  on  the  18th  of  April, 
1836.  But  how  to  get  across  at  the  "Greasers"? 

Deaf  Smith  and  the  other  scouts  were  busy  and, 
after  scouting  around  for  some  time,  a  leaky  boat 
and  raft  were  discovered.  On  these  two  magnificent 
pontoons,  the  gallant  defenders  of  Texan  liberty  were 
ferried  over  to  the  opposite  bank,  while  the  cavalry 
horses  swam  the  bayou.  Not  a  moment  was  lost. 
Houston  ordered  them  to  press  on,  and  pushed  them 
twelve  miles  that  night,  finally  camping  at  one  o'clock 
in  the  early  morning.  Scouts,  sent  out  in  advance, 
told  the  now  eager  soldiers  that  the  hated  Mexicans 
were  near  a  place  where  the  San  Jacinto  River  runs 
into  Buffalo  Bayou.  This  information  was  greeted 
with  a  wild  Texan  yell. 

Houston    had    his   men    stirring    before    morning 


172  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

broke,  and  they  pushed  on  for  seven  miles  before  they 
halted  to  eat.  During  breakfast  a  scout  rode  in  with 
the  words,  "The  whole  outfit  is  near  the  place  where 
the  bayou  and  San  Jacinto  join.  Step  lively,  boys, 
and  we'll  have  a  little  fracas  afore  evenin'."  With- 
out cheering,  but  with  grins  of  satisfaction,  the  soldiers 
pressed  on  to  a  ferry  across  San  Jacinto  Bay,  not  far 
from  where  the  bayou  and  river  join.  A  flat  boat  was 
here  taken,  filled  with  flour  for  Santa  Anna's  men, 
but  none  of  these  were  to  be  seen  except  a  few  badly 
frightened  Mexicans  on  the  barge  of  provisions.  The 
Americans  were  ordered  to  march  up  the  Buffalo  Bayou, 
about  three  quarters  of  a  mile,  were  there  posted  in 
some  woods,  and  told  to  cook  a  meal.  The  captured 
flour  came  in  very  opportunely  as  the  soldiers  were 
both  tired  and  hungry. 

Meanwhile  where  was  the  Napoleon,  or  rather, 
Butcher  of  the  West? 

With  some  twelve  hundred  soldiers,  veterans  of  the 
sack  of  the  Alamo,  and  pillagers  of  many  a  Texan 
village  and  rancho,  the  Mexican  man  of  war  was  at 
New  Washington,  several  miles  away.  Scouts  there 
brought  him  news  of  the  near  approach  of  the  Ameri- 
cans and,  at  first,  his  men  fell  into  a  panic.  But, 
as  no  signs  were  seen  of  the  enemy,  the  leader  of  the 
little  army  restored  order,  saying,  "  We  can  soon  defeat 
these  braggarts  even  as  we  have  defeated  Travis  and 
Fannin.  March  on,  men,  with  me  you  are  invincible!" 
So,  whipping  his  lines  into  good  order,  he  advanced 
towards  the  San  Jacinto  River,  with  his  artillery,  con- 
sisting of  one  nine  pounder,  drawn  by  a  couple  of  fat 
mules. 


GENERAL   SAM   HOUSTON         173 

Sam  Houston  —  with  the  keen  eye  of  a  man  who 
had  studied  Caesar's  Commentaries  to  some  advantage 
—  had  stationed  his  men  in  an  advantageous  position. 
A  level  stretch  of  prairie  was  in  front  of  the  camp, 
while  on  the  left  were  wild  marshes,  intervening  be- 
tween them  and  a  curving  arm  of  the  San  Jacinto 
River.  To  the  rear  was  Buffalo  Bayou,  deep  and 
impassable,  and  eight  miles  away  was  Vince's  Creek, 
where  the  road  up  which  they  had  come  crossed  a 
stout  bridge.  The  Mexicans  had  to  fight  them  in 
front,  and  if  they  turned  to  run,  the  marsh  to  their 
right  would  make  them  fly  in  only  one  direction. 

As  the  Mexicans  advanced,  they  seemed  to  regain 
their  courage,  and  opened  upon  the  "Twin  Sisters" 
with  the  nine  pounder.  The  Texan  Cavalry,  con- 
sisting of  about  sixty  horsemen,  had  a  hand-to-hand 
skirmish  with  the  Mexican  horse,  to  the  right  of  Hous- 
ton's position.  Both  sides  withdrew,  after  a  small 
loss,  and  neither  advanced  the  infantry.  "Why  don't 
you  clean  'em  up,  general?"  Houston  was  asked. 

"Because  I  want  all  the  Greasers  in  the  country 
to  get  here,  so's  I  can  drub  'em  tomorrow.  I  don't 
hanker  after  makin'  two  bites  at  one  cherry,"  replied 
the  old  fellow.  And  he  was  right. 

Night  fell  and  the  Americans  intrenched.  The 
Mexicans  also  threw  up  a  flimsy  barricade  of  pack 
saddles,  bags,  and  boxes  on  their  front,  about  five 
feet  high.  In  the  centre  was  placed  the  nine  pounder, 
while  several  hundred  lean  horsemen,  on  still  leaner 
horses,  were  placed  on  the  right  flank.  Next  morning 
five  hundred  additional  troops,  under  the  celebrated 


174  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

General  Cos,  marched  up  the  road  from  Vince's  Bridge 
and  joined  the  now  confident  Santa  Anna.  Houston's 
men  saw  them,  but  were  not  alarmed.  "Let  'em  all 
come  in,  we'll  lick  the  whole  outfit,"  they  cried  as 
Houston,  wishing  to  calm  their  fears,  told  them 
that  this  was  part  of  the  army  in  front  trickily  march- 
ing about  to  give  the  impression  that  it  was  an  addi- 
tional force.  "Lead  on,  general,"  they  cried,  "re- 
member the  Alamo!" 

But  crafty  "Old  Sam"  was  going  to  take  no  chances 
with  the  much  hated  Santa  Anna  and,  before  the 
battle,  played  one  more  card,  before  he  showed  his 
full  hand.  Calling  Deaf  Smith  —  the  scout  —  to  him, 
he  told  him  to  take  two  sharp  axes  and  another  man, 
and  to  ride  to  Vince's  Bridge  and  cut  it  down,  so  that, 
unable  to  retreat,  his  men  would  either  have  to  fight 
or  perish.  The  Greeks  had  done  this  centuries  before, 
and  it  was  not  a  novel  experiment.  Sam  Houston 
had  learned  Lathi,  not  Greek,  but  he  had  apparently 
learned  how  to  fight  desperately,  in  spite  of  this. 

A  council  of  war  had  been  held  hi  the  American 
camp,  where  the  senior  officers  had  said,  "We  have 
undrilled  bevies.  Santa  Anna  has  veteran  troops. 
It  will  be  absurd  to  make  an  advance.  We  have  a 
good  position.  Let  us  wait  for  him  to  attack  us." 
But  the  younger  officers  thought  differently,  for  is  it 
not  "An  old  man  for  counsel,  a  young  man  for  war"? 
Houston  did  no  talking.  He  had  made  up  his  mind 
and,  at  two  o'clock  on  the  twenty-first,  quietly  moved 
among  his  men,  saying:  "It  is  now  time  to  attack. 
Don't  waste  a  shot,  and  let  your  battle  cry  not  only 


GENERAL   SAM   HOUSTON        175 

be,  'Remember  the  Alamo/  but  also  'Remember  Goliad! 
Remember  La  Bahia!' ' 

By  half-past  three  the  rough-looking  Texans  were 
drawn  up  on  the  flat  prairie,  beyond  their  defenses, 
and  not  a  Mexican  took  note  of  it.  Overcome  by  self- 
confidence  and  vanity,  Santa  Anna  was  asleep;  many 
of  his  officers  were  taking  a  nap;  the  company's  cooks 
were  preparing  dishes  of  hot-flavored  food;  while  the 
privates  were  playing  cards  and  dominos.  No  sentries 
were  apparently  stationed  in  front  of  the  drowsy  camp, 
and  even  the  cavalrymen  were  absent, —  watering 
their  horses  in  the  Lake  Anna  Maria  Fransisco,  which 
lay  behind  their  camp.  At  four  all  seemed  to  be  ready. 
Houston  told  the  drum  and  fife  to  strike  up  a  stirring 
air,  "  Will  You  Come  to  the  Bower?"  and  riding  behind 
the  thin  line,  said,  "Advance!  Guns  atrail  and  hold 
your  fire  until  you  get  within  ten  yards!"  As  he  ceased, 
the  Texans  started  for  the  Mexican  camp  at  a  sharp  walk. 

Some  wooded  islands  were  between  the  armies, 
hiding  the  Americans  from  the  drowsy  eyes  of  Santa 
Anna's  cut-throats,  and  the  Texan  rangers  did  not 
break  into  a  run  until  these  were  past.  Then,  with 
an  ear-splitting  yelp,  quite  similar  to  that  used  by 
the  Confederates  in  the  War  of  the  Rebellion,  they 
rushed  upon  the  camp  of  their  hated  enemies.  As  they 
started  into  this  mad  charge,  Deaf  Smith  —  the  scout 
—  raced  madly  in  their  rear,  calling  out  in  shrill  and 
ominous  tones,  "  You  must  fight  for  your  lives!  Vince's 
Bridge  has  been  cut  away!  There  can  be  no  retreat!" 
"All  right,"  cried  several  Texans.  "We  don't  need 
any  bridge.  We  aren't  coming  back  at  all!" 


176  FAMOUS    SCOUTS 

The  Mexicans  were  taken  absolutely  by  surprise. 
They  had  no  time  to  form  companies,  for  the  advance 
was  too  swift.  Some,  seizing  their  guns,  fired 
recklessly  at  the  swarming  mass  of  Americans  but, 
in  their  terror,  they  aimed  too  high,  the  volleys  passing 
over  the  heads  of  the  rangers.  One  bullet,  however, 
struck  excited  Sam  Houston,  as  he  followed  his  men 
on  a  broncho,  and  caused  a  painful  wound  in  his  ankle. 
But  he  kept  on,  while  the  "Twin  Sisters"  belched  out 
two  shots  which  knocked  a  hole  in  the  half-made  bar- 
ricade. In  a  few  moments  the  Americans  had  leaped 
it,  and  were  firing  point-blank  at  the  half-terrorized 
Mexicans. 

Now  was  a  scene  of  carnage.  As  the  hated  yellow- 
skinned  followers  of  the  rapacious  Santa  Anna  fell 
in  long  wind-rows  —  like  hay  in  the  hay  field  —  the 
Americans,  disdaining  to  again  load,  made  after  them 
with  their  long  knives  and  pistols.  Shouts  and  fierce 
cries  went  up  on  all  sides:  "Remember  the  Alamo! 
Remember  Goliad!  Remember  Colonel  Fannin!"  The 
single  cannon  was  soon  taken,  before  it  could  be 
loaded.  The  American  horse  soon  cut  the  Mexican 
cavalry  to  pieces,  and  what  was  left  galloped  off  in 
the  direction  of  Vince's  Bridge.  Many  of  the  Mexican 
soldiers  dashed  madly  into  the  sedge  and  marshes, 
where  they  were  shot  down  like  rabbits  in  an  English 
park.  Five  hundred  men  rallied  among  some  trees 
but,  surrounded  and  volleyed  at  with  an  accurate  fire, 
they  surrendered  in  a  body.  In  fifteen  minutes  from 
the  moment  of  the  first  assault,  the  Mexicans  were 
flying  in  every  direction. 


GENERAL    SAM    HOUSTON         177 

And  how  about  the  doughty  Santa  Anna,  that 
cruel,  vindictive  usurper  of  Mexican  power? 

When  the  first  rush  of  furious  Americans  reached 
the  outskirts  of  his  camp,  the  brave  leader  of  the  five 
thousand,  who  had  pillaged,  plundered,  and  massacred 
at  the  Alamo  and  countless  other  Texan  hamlets,  — 
took  to  his  heels.  Racing  as  fast  as  he  could  for  Vince's 
Bridge,  he  was  there  met  by  a  number  of  Texan  rangers, 
who  galloped  after  him.  He  plunged  into  a  ravine, 
and  for  a  short  time  was  lost  to  view. 

Night  fell  upon  the  scene  of  carnage.  The  victors 
had  secured  seven  hundred  and  thirty  prisoners;  six 
hundred  of  Santa  Anna's  men  had  been  killed,  and  but 
eight  of  Sam  Houston's.  The  Texans  had  captured 
arms,  great  numbers  of  mules  and  horses,  ammunition, 
and,  what  was  still  more  important,  the  military 
chest  of  the  Mexican  army,  containing  twelve  thousand 
dollars.  The  Texan  army  had  no  military  chest,  but 
Houston  had  started  out  upon  the  campaign  with  a 
private  fund  of  two  hundred  dollars,  one  fourth  of 
which  had  been  given  to  a  woman  whose  husband  had 
been  killed  at  the  Alamo  and  who  had  appealed  to  the 
warm-hearted  American  soldiers  for  aid.  He  had 
not  the  heart  to  refuse  it. 

Next  morning  detachments  were  sent  out  to  scour 
the  country  in  order  to  take  those  Mexicans  who  had 
escaped  the  fight.  A  party  of  five,  while  chasing 
a  deer,  discovered  a  fugitive  who  ran  away  and  fell 
into  a  morass.  With  some  difficulty  he  was  finally 
extracted  and,  in  answer  to  their  questioning,  said 
that  he  was  a  private  soldier.  "  But  no  private  soldier 


178  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

would  wear  jewelled  shirt  studs,"  cried  a  Texan  ranger. 
"I  believe  that  you  are  an  officer."  "No,  I  was  the 
general's  aid-de-camp,"  replied  the  Mexican,  bursting 
into  tears;  and,  as  he  was  not  able  to  walk,  he  was 
placed  on  one  of  the  horses  and  taken  to  the  camp 
of  victorious  Sam  Houston. 

As  the  riders  approached  the  tent  of  the  wounded 
Texan  leader,  they  passed  several  Mexican  soldiers 
who,  on  viewing  their  captive,  murmured,  "El  Presi- 
dente!  El  Presidente!"  With  a  cry  of  surprise  the 
soldiers  gazed  more  intently  at  the  supposed  aid-de- 
camp. "By  heavens,"  said  one,  "it's  the  old  fox, 
himself!  It's  Santa  Anna!"  And  sure  enough;  pried 
out  of  a  bog  by  a  rail;  mounted  on  a  spare,  raw-boned 
horse,  was  the  "Napoleon  of  the  West,"  the  demon 
of  the  Alamo  and  Goliad.  How  had  the  mighty  fallen ! 

Old  Sam  Houston,  fully  satisfied  with  the  day's 
work,  was  lying  upon  a  mattress  in  his  tent,  when 
Santa  Anna  was  brought  to  the  wounded  conqueror. 
Immediately  the  wily  Mexican  demanded  his  release. 
"Sir,"  replied  Houston,  "I  am  not  the  Texan  govern- 
ment, but  am  employed  by  it.  I  cannot  treat  with 
you  on  this  point." 

"You  should  do  well  to  treat  me  properly,"  said 
the  Mexican.  "  There  are  many  other  Mexican  soldiers, 
and  your  army  is  small." 

"Sir!"  answered  the  Texan  leader,  with  consider- 
able warmth.  "Do  you  ever  expect  to  conquer  men 
who  fight  for  freedom,  when  their  general  can  march 
four  days  with  one  ear  of  corn  for  his  rations?"  And 
this,  indeed,  is  said  to  have  been  the  case. 


GENERAL   SAM   HOUSTON         179 

Stout  old  Sam  Houston  then  rebuked  the  black- 
hearted Santa  Anna  for  his  cruelties,  particularly  in 
the  case  of  the  murder  of  Colonel  Fannin,  after  that 
officer  had  surrendered  with  the  understanding  that 
he  would  be  treated  as  a  prisoner  of  war. 

"Your  men  in  the  Alamo  refused  to  surrender," 
said  Santa  Anna.  "General  Urrea  deceived  me,  in 
respect  to  Colonel  Fannin,  telling  me  that  the  Texan 
and  his  army  had  been  vanquished,  and  I  had  orders 
from  my  government  to  execute  all  who  were  taken 
with  arms  in  their  hands." 

Raising  himself  painfully  from  his  couch,  Houston 
cried  out,  with  heat: 

"General  Santa  Anna,  you  are  the  government. 
A  dictator,  like  yourself,  has  no  superior.  Before  God 
you  are  answerable  for  the  souls  of  my  compatriots 
and,  by  all  that  is  just,  you  shall  pay  for  this." 

In  spite  of  this  threat,  the  Mexican  leader  was 
treated  with  great  courtesy,  and  on  May  14th,  1836, 
a  public,  but  secret,  treaty  was  signed,  by  which  Santa 
Anna  acknowledged  the  independence  of  Texas  and 
agreed  to  remove  his  troops  over  the  Rio  Grande. 
Independence  had  been  won. 

A  grateful  people  soon  raised  popular  and  brave 
old  Sam  Houston  to  the  governorship  of  the  new- 
made  State.  On  February  19th,  1846,  the  independent 
republic  was  annexed  to  the  United  States,  and  at 
the  first  session  of  the  legislature  General  Sam  Houston 
was  elected  United  States  Senator.  Here  he  served 
until  the  outbreak  of  Civil  War  between  the  North  and 
the  South,  an  event  which  gave  him  much  sorrow. 


180  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

"The  welfare  and  glory  of  Texas  will  be  my  upper- 
most thought  while  the  spark  of  life  lingers  in  this  breast," 
he  said  in  a  public  speech  in  March,  1863;  but  in  July 
of  that  same  year  he  had  ceased  to  live. 

Even  in  the  whirl  and  excitement  of  a  great  Civil 
War,  the  Texan  people  turned  aside,  for  a  few  brief 
moments,  to  show  respect  for  the  memory  of  the  hero 
of  San  Jacinto.  They  buried  the  old  soldier  with 
every  honor,  and  it  is  well  that  they  did  so,  for  the  great 
victory  which  he  had  won,  and  his  timely  retreat  before 
the  battle,  showed  military  genuis  quite  worthy  of  a 
Hannibal,  or  a  Stonewall  Jackson.  By  it  he  had  won 
the  State  of  Texas  to  her  own  people.  The  memory 
of  her  first  leader  still  moves  the  heart  of  the  true 
Texan,  as  does  the  stirring  slogan:  Remember  the 
Alamo!  And  a  noble  city  now  bears  the  name  of  the 
first  great  military  figure  of  the  Mexican  frontier. 


KIT   CARSON. 


KIT    CARSON:   THE    NESTOR    OF    THE 
ROCKY  MOUNTAINS 

Y  •  "tHE  expedition  led  by  Lewis  and  Clarke  opened 
the  great  West  to  the  knowledge  of  the  more 
adventurous  whites,  and  soon  numbers  of  set- 
tlers pressed  into  the  northern  section  of  country  west  of 
the  Mississippi,  and  also  into  the  southern  portion  of  the 
arid  plateau  and  tableland.  From  Fort  Leavenworth  in 
Kansas  to  Santa  Fe,  New  Mexico,  a  wagon  route  was  soon 
made,  known  as  the  Santa  Fe  trail.  The  redskins  hung 
along  the  borders  of  this  rutted  way  and  had  many 
a  fierce  battle  with  the  whites  as  they  journeyed  to 
and  fro  in  wagons  and  by  pack  train. 

The  great  hero  of  this  highway  to  the  southwest 
was  Kit  Carson,  the  Nestor  of  the  Rocky  Mountains. 
Decidedly  under  the  average  stature;  quick,  wiry,  with 
nerves  of  steel  and  an  indomitable  will;  such  was  the 
great  hunter,  scout  and  man  of  the  plains. 

Kit  Carson's  youth  was  similar  to  that  of  any  boy 
born  upon  the  frontier,  whose  parents  were  extremely 
poor, —  he  existed  and  worked.  Frequently  there  was 
not  enough  to  eat  in  the  Carson  home  in  Howard  County, 
and  young  Kit  would  be  called  upon  to  assist  the  meagre 
store  of  meat  by  hunting.  Thus,  he  early  came  to  be 
a  good  shot,  and  thus  he  early  became  an  expert  with 
the  rifle,  which  was  fired  with  a  percussion  cap  and 

181 


182  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

loaded  with  a  ramrod.  The  repeating  rifle  was  then 
not  manufactured. 

When  seventeen  years  of  age,  a  caravan  of  traders 
passed  through  his  little  village,  bound  for  the  quaint 
old  Spanish-American  town  of  Sante  Fe  in  the  far 
Southwest,  and,  although  apprenticed  to  a  saddler  at 
the  time,  young  Kit  could  not  stand  the  call  of  the 
West.  He  threw  up  his  position,  joined  the  adventurers, 
and  was  soon  footing  it  over  the  prairie  in  wake  of  the 
long,  lean  men  with  the  white-topped  wagons  and 
sleek-fed  mules.  This  was  in  1826,  a  time  when  the 
greatest  interest  was  taken  in  the  far  West,  for  the 
people  of  the  United  States  were  restlessly  pressing 
towards  the  Pacific  Coast,  having  successfully  occupied 
all  of  the  territory  east  of  the  broad  Mississippi. 

On  the  Arkansas  River  in  the  southwestern  Colorado, 
was  Bent's  Fort,  a  frontier  trading  place  and  refuge  for 
white  emigrants,  traders  and  settlers.  Young  Kit  was 
soon  engaged  as  a  hunter  here,  and  remained  at  this 
occupation  for  eight  years.  Forty  men  were  employed 
at  the  fort,  and  it  was  Carson's  business  to  supply  them 
with  meat  from  the  mountains;  an  easy  task,  at  times, 
but  at  others  very  difficult,  for  the  buffalo,  deer  and 
antelope  would  migrate  with  the  weather,  and  would 
often  leave  this  section  almost  entirely.  The  hunter 
became  an  unerring  shot  and  was  soon  well  known  to 
the  plains'  tribes  of  Indians  —  the  Comanches,  Arapahoes 
and  Kiowas  —  while  the  Utes  in  the  Rockies  soon  knew 
him  so  well  that  he  visited  their  camps,  sat  in  their 
lodges,  smoked  the  pipe  of  peace,  and  dandled  their 
children  upon  his  knee.  The  redskins  liked  him  ex- 


KIT   CARSON  183 

ceedingly,  so  that  they  often  would  listen  to  his  counsel 
and  advice. 

Here  is  a  story  that  well  illustrates  his  ability  to 
sway  the  feelings  and  actions  of  the  red  men. 

One  summer  the  Sioux,  the  most  numerous  and 
warlike  of  the  plains'  Indians  of  the  north,  came  far 
south  upon  a  hunt,  until  they  reached  the  edge  of  the 
Arkansas  River.  The  Comanches  sent  a  runner  to 
Bent's  Fort  for  their  friend  Kit  Carson,  to  aid  them  in 
driving  the  invaders  back  upon  their  own  soil.  The 
Arapahoes  had  united  with  the  Comanches  to  assist 
them  in  repelling  the  huntsmen,  and  when  Carson  rode 
to  meet  the  southern  red  men  he  found  a  vast  number 
of  allied  braves,  furious  with  anger  at  the  Sioux,  and 
painted  and  armed  for  immediate  battle. 

"We  know  that  the  Sioux  have  one  thousand  war- 
riors and  many  rifles,"  said  a  Comanche  chieftain  to  the 
well-known  scout.  "With  your  assistance  we  can 
overcome  them  and  drive  them  back  into  their  own 
hunting  grounds.  The  buffalo  are  scarce  enough.  We 
need  them  for  ourselves  and  not  for  the  Sioux.  Our 
hearts  are  now  strong.  We  will  teach  them  not  to 
invade  the  soil  of  our  fathers." 

"I  will  go  to  the  Sioux  and  talk  with  them,"  said 
Carson.  "Leave  it  to  me,  my  red  brothers,  and  I  will 
use  big  medicine  with  the  Sioux,  so  that  they  will  go 
away  and  will  not  fight.  Leave  it  to  me  and  all  will 
be  well." 

So  saying,  he  rode  unaccompanied  to  the  Sioux, 
holding  up  his  hand  as  a  token  of  peace.  He  was  re- 
ceived by  them  with  no  ill  will,  and  soon  was  in  counsel 


184  FAMOUS    SCOUTS 

with  the  head  men  of  this  powerful  hunting  party. 
He  used  his  best  powers  of  persuasion  to  avert  a  clash 
at  arms,  and  after  two  days  of  "  big  talk  "  the  Sioux 
agreed  to  go  north  as  soon  as  the  buffalo  season  was 
over;  "for/'  said  they,  "the  buffalo  have  grown  very 
scarce  in  the  northern  country.  We  must  have  skins 
for  our  tepees,  and  meat  for  the  long  winter.  Hence 
we  had  to  come  into  the  country  of  the  Comanches  for 
food  as  our  little  children  were  crying  for  it." 

The  Comanches  agreed  to  withdraw  also  and,  as 
each  side  kept  to  their  agreements,  the  bloody  battle 
was  thus  averted. 

In  the  spring  of  1830  Carson  had  some  daring  adven- 
tures with  the  Crows.  With  four  other  men  he  went 
to  the  head  waters  of  the  Arkansas  River,  where  he 
joined  twenty  men  under  Captain  John  Yount.  While 
in  the  winter  camp  a  band  of  sixty  Crow  Indians  robbed 
the  little  band  of  skin  hunters  of  several  horses,  to 
recapture  which  Kit  Carson  was  dispatched  with  fifteen 
men.  He  eagerly  took  up  the  trail  of  the  marauders. 

It  was  not  hard  to  track  the  redskins  and,  after  a 
day  spent  in  following  them,  they  were  found  entrenched 
behind  a  rude  fortification  of  logs,  with  the  stolen  horses 
tied  within  ten  feet  of  their  shelter.  Carson  gave  his 
men  no  time  to  think  what  they  were  doing,  but  cried 
out,  "Charge!"  With  a  wild  yell  his  men  galloped 
furiously  after  the  trapper,  who  had  started  well  in 
advance  and,  although  three  of  them  dropped  from 
Indian  bullets,  the  frontiersmen  were  soon  in  among 
the  horses,  which  they  cut  loose  and  carried  off  with 
them.  Most  of  the  redskins  got  away,  although  five 


KIT   CARSON  185 

fell  before  the  rifles  of  Carson's  trappers.  It  had  been 
a  stiff,  nervy  fight. 

As  the  little  band  of  white  frontiersmen  turned  their 
heads  towards  Bent's  Fort,  some  one  said,  "Boys! 
We  ain't  seed  th'  last  redskin,  by  any  means.  Th' 
varmints  will  be  after  us,  sure,  before  many  days  are 
out,  and  we'd  better  hurry  along  afore  too  many  uv  'em 
get  on  our  trail." 

What  the  old  plainsman  said  was  only  too  true. 
Before  two  days  had  gone  a  force  of  two  hundred  Crows 
surprised  the  men  under  Carson  and  Captain  Yountj 
and  did  everything  in  their  power  to  capture  them. 
The  white  men  stood  them  off  from  behind  boulders, 
trees  and  stumps  and,  as  only  a  few  of  the  red  men 
had  rifles,  it  was  soon  apparent  that  Kit  Carson  and 
his  party  would  escape.  The  plainsmen  slowly  re- 
treated, keeping  up  a  constant  battle  with  the  red 
men,  and  for  fifty  miles  this  fighting  went  on.  Carson 
was  wounded  in  the  leg  by  an  arrow.  Several  of  his 
friends  were  killed.  In  spite  of  this  the  little  band 
held  together,  got  out  into  open  country,  and  were 
soon  in  the  hunting  ground  of  the  Comanches,  where 
the  Crows  were  afraid  to  follow  them,  because  of  the 
danger  of  running  into  a  hostile  war  party  of  Indians 
who  were  friendly  to  Carson  and  unfriendly  to  them. 

This  was  but  one  of  many  thrilling  escapes.  Not 
long  afterwards,  while  Kit  was  camped  on  a  tributary 
to  the  Green  River  in  Colorado,  a  young  redskin  caught 
six  of  the  best  horses  belonging  to  the  twenty-five  men 
who  were  with  the  bold  and  daring  trapper,  now  engaged 
in  capturing  beaver  and  other  fur-bearing  animals. 


186  FAMOUS    SCOUTS 

The  theft  was  soon  found  out,  and  Carson,  who  had  a 
great  reputation  as  a  "thief  catcher,"  was  asked  to 
trace  the  fugitive  and  regain  the  stolen  animals.  Al- 
though the  thieving  red  man  had  the  start  by  several 
hours,  Kit  galloped  after  him  with  enthusiasm,  for  he 
wanted  to  make  another  capture. 

The  intrepid  scout  knew  little  of  this  country,  so 
he  employed  a  friendly  Utah  redskin  to  assist  him  in 
tracking  the  fugitive.  It  is  hard  to  realize  it,  but  it 
speaks  well  for  the  persistence  of  Carson  when  it  is 
known  that  he  pushed  after  the  runaway  for  one  hundred 
miles  before  the  thief  was  caught  up  with.  It  also 
shows  that  few  red  men  were  in  this  country,  for  none 
were  either  seen  or  met. 

Just  before  the  thief  was  seen,  the  friendly  redskin's 
horse  gave  out,  so  that  he  could  go  no  further  and, 
being  unwilling  to  accompany  Kit  on  foot,  he  returned 
to  the  camps  of  his  own  people.  Carson  wasted  no 
time  and  pressed  on  alone,  determined  to  catch  the 
thief,  or  to  kill  his  own  horse  in  the  attempt. 

Suddenly,  as  the  plainsman  rounded  a  high  hillock, 
he  saw  the  retreating  red  man,  down  below  in  a  valley, 
leading  the  stolen  horses.  The  fugitive  looked  around 
at  this  moment,  and  saw  his  pursurer,  so  he  leaped 
from  his  horse,  rifle  hi  hand,  and  ran  to  a  clump 
of  cottonwood  trees.  Kit  saw  that  the  Indian  would 
soon  be  in  a  place  of  concealment,  so  determined  to  take 
a  chance  at  him  as  he  ran.  The  distance  was  three 
hundred  yards.  As  the  thief  made  for  a  tree,  the 
keen-eyed  plainsman  fired,  and  so  perfect  had  been 
his  aim  that  the  Indian  fell  forward,  stone  dead. 


KIT   CARSON  187 

It  was  a  remarkable  shot,  for  the  red  man  was  on  a  brisk 
run,  and  as  Carson  was  on  his  horse  his  arm  was 
naturally  jolted  by  the  movements  of  his  mount. 

The  six  horses  were  soon  caught,  tied  together  by 
deer  thongs,  and  started  for  camp,  where  Carson,  the 
indefatigable  thief  chaser,  arrived  after  an  absence 
of  six  days  only.  So  delighted  were  the  leaders  of  the 
trappers  that  the  famous  plainsman  was  presented 
with  a  large  number  of  peltries,  which  he  subsequently 
sold  at  a  good  profit  and  invested  the  proceeds  in  a 
new  rifle,  some  better  blankets  than  those  he  carried, 
and  a  few  spare  horses  with  which  to  transport  his 
packs.  For  a  trapper,  young  Kit  was  now  in  prosperous 
circumstances. 

Grizzly  bears  were  plentiful  in  the  country  which 
Carson  was  accustomed  to  set  his  traps  in,  and  while 
he  was  acting  as  a  hunter,  not  long  after  his  capture 
of  the  horse  thief,  he  had  an  adventure  that  was  both 
startling  and  desperate.  While  camped  near  the  head- 
waters of  a  tiny  stream  where  game  was  abundant, 
he  killed  a  large  elk  within  a  mile  of  his  camp  and,  as 
he  leaned  over  the- dead  animal  to  cut  its  throat,  sud- 
denly there  appeared,  coming  towards  him,  a  species 
of  game  for  which  he  certainly  had  not  been  hunting. 
It  was  a  large  and  powerful  grizzly  bear. 

Moved  by  hunger,  the  animal  apparently  wished 
to  make  a  victim  of  the  frontiersman.  He  made  a 
lunge  toward  him,  and  Kit,  having  a  sudden  desire 
to  climb  a  tree,  made  all  possible  use  of  his  limbs  to 
run  to  a  neighboring  pine,  leaving  his  gun  unloaded 
and  lying  beside  the  animal  which  he  had  just  killed. 


188  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

The  bear  did  not  take  the  slightest  notice  of  the  dead 
elk,  and  started  after  the  trapper,  as  if  man  meat  was 
all  that  he  was  looking  for,  while  Kit  just  managed 
to  swing  himself  upon  a  limb  as  the  monster's  jaws 
closed  beneath  his  left  foot.  Grabbing  about  for  some- 
thing with  which  to  defend  himself,  he  twisted  off  a 
branch  from  the  tree,  and  with  this  he  struck  the  nose 
of  the  bear  whenever  he  came  uncomfortably  near  him. 
Bruin  was  greatly  enraged,  and  began  to  gnaw  the 
body  of  the  tree  but,  tiring  of  this  after  a  while,  he 
began  to  growl  and  snarl  with  great  fierceness. 

Carson  was  kept  up  the  tree  until  nearly  midnight. 
Then  the  big  grizzly  began  to  walk  around  the  trunk 
in  circles,  and  in  the  course  of  his  ramblings  came 
upon  the  body  of  the  dead  elk.  He  fell  upon  this  with 
a  will;  gorged  himself,  and  then  lumbered  away  into 
the  deep  forest.  When  sure  that  he  was  gone,  Carson 
speedily  dropped  to  the  ground,  and  seizing  his  rifle, 
made  excellent  speed  towards  his  camp,  where  he  was 
greeted  with  much  joy.  Alarmed  over  his  long  absence, 
his  comrades  intended  to  soon  go  in  search  of  their  best 
huntsman  and  scout. 

It  was  scarcely  strange  that  a  man  who  lived  the 
life  that  he  did  would  come  through  without  a  scratch, 
or  a  wound  of  some  sort.  Soon  after  the  adventure 
with  the  big  grizzly  the  brave  Kit  went  to  Sante  Fe, 
New  Mexico,  and  here  disposed  of  his  season's  furs  at 
an  excellent  figure.  'He  had  hardly  been  in  this  place 
for  a  week,  before  another  party  of  fifty  trappers  set 
out  for  the  Blackfeet  country,  on  the  upper  Missouri 
River.  The  trip  was  long  and  tedious,  and  the  band 


KIT   CARSON  189 

of  adventurers  soon  found  themselves  in  a  country 
which  was  held  by  a  tribe  of  treacherous  and  cruel  red 
men,  the  most  treacherous  upon  the  frontier.  Lewis 
and  Clarke,  as  you  remember,  had  had  a  taste  of  their 
cunning. 

Although  good  watch  was  kept  upon  the  red  men, 
one  evening  a  band  of  Blackfeet  stampeded  the  horses 
of  the  white  invaders,  and  stole  eighteen  of  the  best 
animals.  Carson,  who  was  called  the  great  "thief 
catcher, "  was  at  once  asked  to  go  after  the  marauders, 
and,  taking  twenty  of  the  most  lithe  and  active  men 
in  the  expedition,  he  set  out  after  the  thieves  in  a  snow 
storm.  The  tracks  of  the  redskins  were  at  first  very 
plain,  but  after  a  while  they  became  obliterated,  so 
that  Kit  had  to  dismount  and  feel  for  the  print  of  the 
fleeing  horses  with  his  hands.  For  seventy-five  miles 
the  chase  was  kept  up  in  spite  of  all  difficulties,  and 
at  length  the  red  men  were  sighted. 

Instead  of  stampeding  when  the  whites  came  in 
view,  the  Blackfeet  rode  towards  them,  one  chief  holding 
up  his  hand  in  token  of  friendship.  "Ugh!  Ugh!" 
said  the  warrior.  "We  will  not  fight.  We  wish  to 
speak  with  our  white  brothers." 

"We  want  our  horses,"  said  Carson.  "We  wish 
to  have  no  fight  with  our  red  brothers,  but  if  our  red 
brothers  will  not  give  up  our  horses,  then  there  will  be 
one  big  battle." 

"How,"  grunted  a  chief.  "We  took  the  horses 
because  we  thought  that  the  animals  belonged  to  the 
Snake  Indians,  our  enemies.  We  are  your  friends. 
We  do  not  wish  to  fight." 


190  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

But,  in  spite  of  these  protestations  of  friendship, 
the  red  men  still  refused  to  give  up  the  animals.  Where- 
upon some  of  the  trappers  seized  the  horses  and  began 
to  walk  them  away  towards  their  own  outfit.  In  a 
moment  the  redskins  prepared  for  a  fight  and,  although 
armed  chiefly  with  bows  and  arrows,  some  had  rifles 
which  they  had  obtained  at  various  trading  posts. 

Crash!  The  first  rifle  spoke  in  the  stillness  of  the 
little  forest  to  which  the  Indians  and  whites  had  with- 
drawn for  the  conference.  A  bullet  zipped  by  the 
head  of  the  Blackfoot  leader,  dropping  a  redskin  in  his 
rear,  who  fell  like  a  log.  Crash!  Crash!  other  rifles 
spat  out  their  slogans  of  death  and,  as  the  arrows 
hummed  through  the  branches  and  tree  trunks,  the 
trappers  took  cover.  Kit  Carson  crouched  behind  a 
log.  Near  him  was  his  dearest  friend  and  companion, 
called  Markland,  a  clean  man  and  a  clear  shot.  Op- 
posite them  were  two  dusky  warriors,  each  with  a  good 
rifle  and,  as  Kit  took  aim  at  his  antagonist,  he  saw 
another  red  man  drawing  a  bead  upon  his  friend,  who, 
totally  unconscious  of  his  danger,  lay  behind  a  log, 
busily  loading  his  piece.  Crack!  spoke  that  trusty 
rifle  of  Kit  Carson's,  and  the  red  man  who  had  a  bead 
upon  Markland  gave  a  yelp  of  pain,  rolling  over  back- 
wards with  a  bullet  in  his  brain.  As  he  fell,  Carson, 
himself,  gave  a  sharp  cry,  for  the  second  red  man  had 
fired  at  him,  the  bullet  striking  him  in  the  shoulder, 
shattering  the  shoulder  blade,  and  making  a  deep, 
gaping  wound.  Although  badly  hurt,  the  nervy  trapper 
was  not  undone,  and  propping  himself  against  a  tree, 
he  loaded  again,  fired,  and  the  wild,  ugly  screech  which 


KIT   CARSON  191 

reached  his  ears  bore  full  witness  to  the  fact  that  his 
aim  had  been  true.  So  the  fight  waged  with  fury, 
until  night  began  to  throw  its  shadows  over  the  fray, 
when  the  red  men  quietly  withdrew,  still  with  most  of 
the  captured  horses.  They  had  won  and  the  trappers 
had  to  mourn  the  loss  of  five  of  their  companions. 

Upon  searching  for  the  wounded,  Carson  was  found 
lying  upon  the  snow,  with  his  coat  gathered  into  a 
lump  at  the  shoulder  to  staunch  the  terrific  flow  of 
blood.  He  was  lifted  upon  a  horse,  the  bullet  was 
extracted,  and  the  gaping  wound  was  roughly  bound 
up.  Thus,  supported  by  two  companions,  he  made 
the  long  journey  back  to  camp,  for  with  five  killed  and 
four  wounded  the  trappers  did  not  think  it  wise  to 
again  attack  the  Blackfeet,  who  had  showed  themselves 
to  be  quite  the  equals  of  the  whites  in  a  rough-and- 
ready  fight.  They  were  able  to  get  safely  off,  and 
although  Captain  Bridger  took  thirty  men  and  started 
out  after  the  thieving  Blackfeet,  he  was  unable  to  find 
their  trail. 

Shortly  after  this  episode,  the  wounded  Kit  Carson, 
having  fully  recovered,  came  near  losing  his  life  for  a 
second  time,  but  by  the  hand  of  a  whiteskin  and  not 
a  redskin.  The  party  of  plainsmen  had  been  joined  at 
the  Green  River,  Colorado,  by  a  large  number  of  French- 
men and  Canadians  who  were  employed  by  the  Hudson 
Bay  Fur  Company,  the  most  powerful  of  all  the  com- 
panies trading  upon  the  frontier  in  the  United  States 
and  Canada.  There  were  now  about  one  hundred  men 
in  the  camp,  which  was  a  force  thoroughly  able  to 
cope  with  any  hostile  redskins  who  might  think  of 


192  FAMOUS    SCOUTS 

attacking  them,  and  running  off  with  the  live  stock. 

You  have  all  seen  the  braggart  and  the  bully,  and 
among  these  French  adventurers  was  one  called  Shuman, 
a  man  particularly  fond  of  bad  whiskey  and  of  wrestling 
with,  fighting  with,  and  bullying  his  companions. 
He  was  an  autocrat  and  a  domineering  ne'er-do-well. 
On  one  occasion  he  began  riding  around  the  camp 
with  his  gun  in  his  hand,  crying: 

"Zese  Americans  are  a  log  of  ze  chicken-livered 
scoundrels.  What  have  zey  evair  done,  anyway? 
Zey  come  into  our  rightful  trapping  ground  and  catch 
all  of  ze  beavair  which  belong  to  us.  Zere's  not  a  man 
among  'em.  Zere's  not  a  feller  in  the  whole  outfit  who 
isn't  ze  cowardly  cur.  I  can  lick  ten  of  'em  at  once. 
I'm  a  regular  tornado  of  fury  when  I  once  break  loose. 
Sacre  Nom  de  Dieu!" 

Kit  Carson,  usually  very  quiet,  stood  this  about 
as  long  as  he  could,  and  then  he  stepped  out  upon  the 
piece  of  flat  ground,  upon  which  the  Frenchman  was 
riding  about. 

"I  am  an  American,"  said  he,  "and  I  am  no  coward. 
You  are  a  vaporing  bully,  and  hi  order  to  show  you 
how  Americans  can  punish  liars,  I'll  fight  you  here  hi 
any  manner,  form,  or  shape  that  you  may  desire." 

Shuman  drew  up  with  a  face  fairly  purple  with  rage. 

"You  cur  of  an  American,"  he  yelled.  "If  you  are 
looking  for  an  opportunity  to  get  killed,  I  have  no 
objection  to  shooting  you  as  eef  you  were  a  dog.  Yes, 
ze  dog  of  an  Indian  squaw  man.  Get  on  your  horse, 
you  snip,  and  we  vill  ride  together  after  a  hundred 
yards  apart.  Zen  I  vill  kill  you  as  a  mosquito.  As  a 


KIT   CARSON  193 

horsefly.  Come  on,  you  pale-faced  scullion,  I  vill 
wipe  up  ze  airth  weeth  you.  Par  done.  Sapriste! 
Come  on,  do  not  let  us  delay!" 

In  a  moment,  the  lithe  and  agile  Kit  had  mounted 
his  horse,  and  in  a  moment  he  had  galloped  off  for  a 
hundred  yards  with  his  pistol  in  his  hand.  The  entire 
camp  had  rushed  out  to  see  the  fun,  and  every  trapper 
there  was  for  Carson,  for  Shuman  was  cordially  de- 
tested by  all.  Kit  wheeled.  The  Frenchman  did 
likewise,  and  raised  his  rifle  to  his  shoulder  as  he  did  so. 
He  had  trained  himself  to  fire  from  his  running  horse 
by  shooting  buffaloes,  and  he  felt  sure  that  he  could 
put  a  bullet  clear  through  the  brain  of  his  adversary. 

The  horses  now  swept  down  upon  one  another, 
like  knights  in  a  tournament  under  Henry  the  Eighth 
of  England,  until  the  men  were  within  shooting 
distance.  Shuman  raised  his  rifle  and  fired.  All  stood 
aghast,  as  a  lock  fell  from  Carson's  hair,  but  he  still 
kept  on.  The  smoke  from  the  Frenchman's  gun  was 
just  rolling  away  when  Carson  put  up  his  pistol  and 
pointed  it  at  the  now  pale-faced  braggart.  Crack! 
A  report  rang  out,  and  a  ball  entered  Shuman's  hand, 
ploughing  upward  and  lodging  in  his  elbow. 

"Eet  is  enough!"  cried  the  once  proud  ruffian. 
"You  could  have  killed  me.  I  thank  you  for  my  life, 
Monsieur!" 

And  never  afterwards  did  Shuman  indulge  in  brag- 
ging talk  while  in  the  camp  with  Kit  Carson,  the  cool 
headed. 

The  winter  was  spent  by  Carson  in  the  region  of  the 
Yellowstone,  with  only  twelve  other  men,  and  it  was  a 


194  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

winter  of  starvation,  for  game  was  scarce  and  horses 
had  to  be  slaughtered  to  supply  the  little  party  with 
meat. 

When  spring  came  the  huntsmen  began  to  set  their 
steel  traps,  but,  unfortunately  for  them,  their  presence 
was  discovered  by  the  thieving,  horse-stealing  Black- 
feet,  .who  as  we  have  seen  were  the  very  worst 
enemies  which  the  white  men  had  upon  the  frontier. 
One  day  the  redskins  crept  upon  Carson  and  five  of  the 
party  as  they  were  baiting  their  traps  and  resetting 
them.  A  fierce  running  fight  took  place.  The  red  men 
were  kept  in  check  until  the  ammunition  of  the  trappers 
was  well-nigh  exhausted,  and  then  a  retreat  was  com- 
menced toward  camp.  The  white  men  were  mounted, 
and  during  the  movement  a  horse,  upon  which  one  of 
the  trappers  had  hastily  scrambled,  stumbled  over  a 
fallen  log  and  fell,  so  that  the  rider  was  thrown  upon 
his  head.  He  struck  a  sharp  stone  and  lay  unconscious. 
Five  Blackfeet  immediately  rushed  upon  the  fallen 
trapper  in  order  to  take  his  scalp,  but  the  keen  eye  of 
Carson  had  seen  the  deed,  and  he  leaped  to  a  position 
near  the  prostrate  and  helpless  companion.  From  a 
tree  stump  he  shot  the  foremost  red  man,  and  fired  so 
rapidly  at  the  others  that  they  held  off  in  order  to  save 
themselves.  Now,  seeing  that  the  coast  was  clear, 
the  plucky  Kit  dashed  to  the  fallen  trapper  and  pulled 
him  to  a  place  of  security  behind  a  large  boulder.  Here 
he  soon  revived  and,  after  catching  his  horse,  rejoined 
his  companions. 

Not  long  afterwards  the  rest  of  the  trappers  galloped 
into  view,  for  they  had  heard  the  firing,  and  realized 


KIT   CARSON  195 

that  their  compatriots  must  be  in  a  desperate  situation. 
The  battle  was  now  hot,  and  the  crash  of  rifles  waked 
the  echoes  of  the  sombre  forest.  Steadily  the  white 
men  drove  the  yelping  redskins  back  into  the  wood, 
and  as  the  shadows  of  night  began  to  fall  the  last 
redskin  disappeared  over  a  bluff,  shaking  his  fist  vin- 
dictively at  the  trappers,  but  nevertheless  running 
away  at  no  easy  gait. 

Mountain  lions  were  thick  in  the  section  of  country 
in  which  the  trappers  found  themselves.  At  night 
their  weird  screams,  much  like  the  cry  of  a  strangled 
child,  would  sound  from  the  sombre  recesses  of  the 
wild  wood,  but  as  they  are  great  cowards,  except  when 
hungry,  they  would  rarely  be  seen  during  the  day. 
Nor  would  they  be  caught  in  the  traps  which  were 
set  for  them,  as  they  were  cunning  and  suspicious. 

One  day  Kit  was  walking  along  the  bank  of  a  stream 
where  many  of  his  traps  were  set,  while  a  companion 
was  behind  him  preparing  supper  in  the  little  camp 
which  they  had  made.  Carson  had  a  large  rifle  with 
him,  and  seeing  a  large  grouse  strutting  about  in  the 
trail,  he  raised  his  piece  in  order  to  shoot  off  its  head, 
when  he  saw  a  mountain  lion  in  the  upturned  roots  of 
a  fallen  tree.  The  beast  came  gradually  towards  him, 
and  fearing  that  it  would  spring  upon  him,  he  fired 
at  its  forehead  just  between  the  eyes.  But  he  missed, 
and  in  another  instant  the  lion  was  upon  him,  snarling 
and  hissing  like  a  huge  house  cat.  As  he  came  on, 
Kit  whipped  out  his  sheath  knife  and  struck  at  the 
beast,  which  was  apparently  hungry  and  ferocious. 
In  spite  of  his  fierce  lunges,  the  animal  jumped  upon 


196  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

him,  ripped  his  shirt  with  his  sharp  claws,  and  en- 
deavored to  bite  into  his  neck  with  his  fangs.  The 
two  struggling  fighters  fell  to  the  ground  and  rolled 
over  each  other  down  a  hillside,  while  the  gallant  Kit 
struck  again  and  again  at  his  foe.  The  lion  bit  and 
snarled,  but  he  was  no  match  for  the  trapper,  and  after 
biting  him  severely  in  the  shoulder  rolled  over  dead 
from  the  deep  jabs  which  Kit  had  inflicted  with  his  long 
knife. 

Carson  now  fainted  from  loss  of  blood  and  from 
his  exertions.  Thus  he  lay  for  some  hours  until  found 
by  his  companion,  who  had  tracked  him  to  this  spot. 
He  was  carried  back  to  camp;  his  wounds  were  dressed, 
and  great  care  was  bestowed  upon  him,  for  he  was 
dangerously  injured.  After  a  month  of  illness,  when 
he  lingered  between  life  and  death,  he  began  to  recover, 
and  at  the  end  of  two  months'  time  was  able  to  renew 
his  trapping  and  hunting.  It  had  been  a  close  shave 
from  death's  door. 

When  the  famous  trapper  returned  to  Bent's  Fort, 
he  fell  in  love  with  an  Indian  girl  belonging  to  the 
Comanche  tribe,  and  married  her.  Not  long  after  this 
interesting  event  be  became  dangerously  ill,  when  at 
Fort  Hall,  one  hundred  miles  away,  and  word  of 
his  condition  was  brought  to  his  wife  at  Bent's  Fort, 
where  she  was  looking  after  her  small  daughter,  but  two 
weeks  of  age.  With  true  devotion  she  mounted  a 
horse  and  immediately  started  to  the  place  where  her 
husband  lay  ill,  arriving  there  in  twelve  hours.  This 
great  exertion  brought  on  a  severe  fever,  and  of  this 
she  died  hi  a  few  days,  greatly  mourned  by  the  rough, 


KIT   CARSON  197 

honest  Kit  Carson,  who  was  devoted  to  her  in  spite 
of  her  nationality.  The  little  daughter  lived,  developed 
into  a  beautiful  woman,  and  subsequently  married  a 
merchant  of  St.  Louis. 

We  now  come  to  the  most  interesting  part  of  the 
life  of  this  "Monarch  of  the  Plains":  his  association 
with  General  John  C.  Fremont  in  exploring  expeditions 
and  in  annexing  the  State  of  California  to  the  United 
States  of  America. 

When  the  well-known  trapper  was  visiting  the  then 
frontier  post  of  St.  Louis,  it  chanced  that  General  John 
C.  Fremont  was  in  the  city  organizing  an  expedition 
for  exploring  that  part  of  the  country  which  lay  between 
the  Missouri  River  and  the  Rocky  Mountains.  The 
general  sent  for  Kit  Carson  as  soon  as  he  learned  that 
the  famous  plainsman  was  in  town,  and  after  a  long 
interview  employed  him  as  chief  guide  for  his  expedi- 
tion into  the  land  of  unfriendly  redskins.  The  party 
for  adventure  consisted  of  twenty-one  men  —  prin- 
cipally half-breeds  —  and  Louis  Maxwell,  of  Illinois, 
who  had  a  big  reputation  as  a  hunter.  The  expedition 
struck  across  the  broad  prairies  of  Kansas  to  the  River 
Platte.  Then  they  travelled  by  the  Oregon  trail  past 
Fort  Laramie  to  the  beetling  crags  of  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains. The  plains  were  covered  with  herds  of  buffalo, 
and  the  antelope,  in  little  bunches,  grazed  contentedly 
on  every  side.  It  was  a  hunter's  paradise. 

As  the  little  party,  sunburned,  dusty  and  weather- 
stained,  rode  quietly  along  the  bank  of  the  river  Platte, 
a  great  herd  of  buffalo,  some  seven  or  eight  hundred 
in  number,  came  crowding  up  from  the  river  where 


198  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

they  had  been  drinking  and  began  to  cross  the  plain 
in  a  leisurely  manner,  eating  as  they  went.  The  wind 
blew  from  them  towards  the  trappers,  so  the  buffalo 
could  not  smell  the  horses  and  men.  The  distance 
between  the  party  and  the  herd  (two  or  three  miles) 
gave  the  trappers  a  splendid  opportunity  to  charge 
the  bison  before  they  could  get  among  the  river  hills. 
It  was  a  splendid  opportunity  for  a  hunt. 

The  scouts  halted.  The  hunting  horses  were  brought 
up  and  saddled,  while  Kit  Carson,  Maxwell  and  General 
Fremont  started  out  together  to  kill  some  meat.  The 
buffaloes  had  grazed  to  within  half  a  mile,  so  the  three 
hunters  rode  easily  along  until  they  were  within  three 
hundred  yards  of  them.  All  was  going  well,  when 
suddenly  an  agitation  in  the  herd,  a  wavering  to  and 
fro,  and  a  galloping  about  of  some  of  the  animals  on 
the  outskirts,  made  it  apparent  that  the  three  plains- 
men were  discovered.  Putting  spurs  to  their  horses, 
the  hunters  galloped  abreast  towards  the  black  mass 
of  buffalo,  which  now  wheeled  about,  snorting  with 
fear,  and  began  to  lumber  off  across  the  dry  plain. 

A  crowd  of  bulls  brought  up  the  rear  of  the  stamped- 
ing mass,  and  every  once  in  so  often  one  would  face 
about,  and  then  dash  on  after  his  companions.  Then 
he  would  turn  round  again  and  look  as  if  he  were  half 
inclined  to  stay  and  fight.  This  did  not  worry  the 
three  plainsmen.  When  at  about  thirty  yards  from 
the  fleeing  herd,  they  all  gave  a  loud  yell  and  rode  right 
into  the  mass.  Many  of  the  bulls,  eyeing  their  pursuers 
instead  of  the  ground,  fell  to  earth  with  great  force, 
rolling  over  and  over  in  the  alkali  dust,  and  were  soon 


KIT   CARSON  199 

yellow  instead  of  brown.  Each  man  singled  out  his 
particular  buffalo,  and  made  for  it.  General  Fremont 
has  written: 

"  My  horse  was  a  trained  hunter,  famous  in  the  West 
under  the  name  of  Provean,  and  with  his  eyes  flashing, 
and  the  foam  flying  from  his  mouth,  sprang  on  after 
the  cow  I  was  pursuing  like  a  hungry  tiger.  In  a  few 
moments  he  brought  me  alongside  of  her  and.  rising 
in  the  stirrups,  I  fired  at  the  distance  of  a  yard,  the  ball 
entering  at  the  termination  of  the  long  hair,  and  passing 
near  the  heart.  She  fell  headlong  at  the  report  of  the 
gun,  and  checking  my  horse  I  looked  around  for  my 
companions. 

"At  a  little  distance  Kit  Carson  was  on  the  ground, 
engaged  in  tying  his  horse  to  the  horns  of  a  cow  which 
he  was  preparing  to  cut  up.  Among  the  scattered 
bands,  at  some  distance  below,  I  caught  a  glimpse  of 
Maxwell,  and  while  I  was  looking  a  light  wreath  of 
smoke  curled  away  from  his  gun,  from  which  I  was  too 
far  to  hear  the  report.  Nearer,  and  between  me  and 
the  hill,  was  the  body  of  the  herd,  and  giving  my 
horse  the  reins  I  dashed  after  them.  A  thick  cloud 
of  dust  hung  upon  their  rear,  which  filled  my  mouth 
and  eyes  and  nearly  smothered  me.  In  the  midst  of 
this  I  could  see  nothing,  and  the  buffaloes  were  not  dis- 
tinguishable until  within  thirty  feet. 

"They  crowded  together  more  densely  still,  as  I 
came  upon  them,  and  rushed  along  in  such  a  compact 
body  that  I  could  not  obtain  an  entrance,  the  horse 
almost  leaping  upon  them.  In  a  few  moments  the 
mass  divided  to  the  right  and  left,  the  horns  clattering 


200  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

with  a  noise  above  everything  else,  and  my  horse  darted 
into  the  opening. 

"  Five  or  six  bulls  charged  on  us  as  we  dashed  along 
the  line,  but  were  left  far  behind,  and  singling  out  a 
cow  I  gave  her  my  fire,  but  struck  too  high.  She  gave 
a  tremendous  leap  and  galloped  on,  swifter  than  before. 
I  reined  up  my  horse,  and  the  herd  swept  on  like  a 
torrent,  leaving  the  place  quiet  and  clear. 

"Our  chase  had  led  us  into  dangerous  ground,  a 
prairie-dog  village,  so  thickly  settled  that  there  were 
three  or  four  holes  in  every  twenty  yards  square,  occupy- 
ing the  whole  bottom  for  nearly  two  miles  in  length." 

Meanwhile,  what  of  Kit  Carson?  While  General 
Fremont  was  making  his  second  attack  upon  the  herd, 
Kit  left  the  buffalo  which  he  had  killed,  in  order  to 
pursue  a  large  bull  that  came  running  nearby.  Leap- 
ing upon  his  well-trained  horse,  he  chased  the  game 
for  quarter  of  a  mile,  but  because  his  horse  was  very 
winded  he  could  not  gain  upon  the  lumbering  brute. 
At  length  he  came  up  to  the  side  of  the  fleeing  beast 
and  fired,  but  his  horse  stepped  into  a  prairie-dog  hole, 
fell  upon  his  nose,  and  threw  Kit  fully  fifteen  feet  over 
his  head.  The  bullet  struck  the  buffalo  near  the  shoul- 
der, but  did  not  inflict  a  mortal  wound.  Thoroughly 
enraged,  the  infuriated  animal  pursued  the  scout 
who,  jumping  to  his  feet  with  alacrity,  made  off  to  the 
river. 

Furious  and  bleeding  from  his  wound,  the  buffalo 
charged  after  the  fleeing  trapper.  It  was  a  race  for 
life.  Never  had  Carson  run  as  he  did  now,  and  the 
broad  waters  of  the  Platte  seemed  very  far  away, 


KIT   CARSON  201 

indeed.  Thud!  Thud!  came  the  animal's  heels  after 
the  running  plainsman,  and  as  Kit  leaped  from  the 
high  bank  far  out  into  the  clear  water,  he  felt  the  hot 
breath  of  the  enraged  brute  upon  his  neck.  Not  stop- 
ping to  look  behind  him,  he  swam  way  out  into  the 
stream,  then,  turning  about,  saw  the  big  beast 
standing  upon  the  bank,  shaking  his  head  savagely, 
and  stamping  vehemently  with  his  fore  feet.  Kit  had 
won  the  fastest  one-hundred-yard  dash  on  record. 

The  huntsman  swam  around  for  some  time,  watching 
his  brute  enemy  with  care,  until  finally  Trapper  Max- 
well saw  his  unfortunate  predicament  and  came  to  his 
rescue.  With  a  leaden  ball  he  shot  the  big  bull  through 
the  heart,  and  then  Carson  paddled  to  shore.  With  a 
hearty  laugh  he  crawled  to  the  bank  and  skinned  his 
ferocious  enemy.  The  wetting  did  not  disconcert  him 
in  the  least.  For  the  third  time  in  his  life,  he  had 
escaped  a  savage  enemy. 

After  this  successful  hunt  for  buffalo  the  party 
pushed  on  into  the  unknown  West,  and  soon  reached 
Laramie,  Wyoming,  then  a  fort  and  collection  of  traders' 
huts.  Sighting  the  range  of  beetling  mountains  nearby 
they  soon  found  a  way  among  them,  and  climbed  to  the 
top  of  the  highest,  which  was  named  Pike's  Peak. 
Soon  after  this  Kit  Carson  left  the  expedition  and 
went  to  New  Mexico,  where,  in  1843,  he  married  a 
Mexican  lady,  with  whom  he  lived  very  happily  for 
many  years,  and  who  gave  him  two  children,  a  boy 
and  a  girl,  only  one  of  whom,  the  boy,  lived  to 
maturity. 

In  June  of  this  year  he  heard  that  Fremont  was 


202  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

organizing  another  expedition,  so  started  after  him  as 
soon  as  he  learned  that  he  had  left  Kansas  City.  When 
he  came  up  with  the  explorer,  Fremont  greeted  him 
effusively,  saying,  "Carson,  you  are  the  man  of  all 
others  that  I  am  most  delighted  to  see.  If  I  had 
known  your  address  I  should  certainly  have  com- 
municated my  desire  to  have  you  accompany  me  on 
the  present  expedition,  but  since  I  am  so  fortunate  as 
to  meet  you  at  my  camp,  your  services,  I  trust,  will 
be  given  me." 

Kit  only  too  joyfully  joined  the  expedition,  and 
travelled  to  the  Great  Salt  Lake  in  Utah,  to  the  homes 
of  the  Digger  Indians,  and  to  the  Columbia  River. 
The  party  reached  Sutter's  Fort  in  California  as  winter 
approached,  and  this  was  the  identical  place  where 
gold  was  subsequently  discovered  for  the  first  time. 
The  men  disbanded  in  the  winter,  and  the  adventurous 
Kit  returned  to  Taos,  New  Mexico,  to  engage  in  sheep 
ranching.  But  in  the  spring  Fremont  projected  a 
third  expedition,  and  again  called  for  the  services  of 
the  seasoned  plainsman.  Carson  disposed  of  his  sheep 
ranch  at  a  reckless  sacrifice,  and  joined  his  old  com- 
mander at  Bent's  Fort  on  the  upper  Arkansas.  There 
were  forty  men  with  the  daring  "Path  Finder,"  as 
Fremont  was  called,  and  they  were  all  well  seasoned 
veterans  at  plains'  life  and  fighting  Indians. 

A  lieutenant  who  was  with  the  party  thus  has 
described  the  manner  in  which  Kit  Carson  prepared 
for  the  night.  "A  braver  man,"  he  says,  "than  Kit 
perhaps  never  lived;  in  fact  I  doubt  if  he  ever  knew 
what  fear  was,  but  with  all  this  he  exercised  great 


KIT   CARSON  203 

caution.  While  arranging  his  bed,  his  saddle,  which 
he  always  used  as  a  pillow,  was  disposed  in  such  a 
manner  as  to  form  a  barricade  for  his  head;  his  pistols, 
half  cocked,  were  laid  above  it,  and  his  trusty  rifle 
reposed  beneath  his  blanket  by  his  side,  where  it  was 
not  only  ready  for  instant  use,  but  was  perfectly 
protected  from  the  damp.  Except  now  and  then 
to  light  his  pipe,  you  never  caught  Kit  exposing 
himself  to  the  full  glare  of  the  camp  fire.  He  knew 
too  well  the  treacherous  character  of  the  tribes  among 
whom  he  was  now  travelling;  he  had  seen  men  killed 
at  night  by  a  concealed  foe  who,  veiled  in  darkness, 
stood  in  perfect  security,  while  he  shot  down  the  moun- 
taineer clearly  seen  by  the  firelight.  'No,  no,  boys/ 
Kit  would  say,  'hang  round  the  fire  if  you  will;  it  may 
do  for  you,  if  you  like  it,  but  I  don't  want  to  have  a 
Digger  Injun  slip  an  arrow  into  me  when  I  can't  see 
him.' " 

Not  long  after  they  had  started  upon  this  third 
expedition,  as  the  camp  was  pitched  upon  the  borders 
of  a  little  stream  near  Monterey,  California,  they  were 
met  by  General  Castro  at  the  head  of  four  hundred 
Mexicans,  who  opposed  the  further  progress  of  the 
Americans  and  ordered  their  immediate  return.  "I 
refuse  to  return,"  said  Fremont.  "  This  country  belongs 
to  us  as  much  as  it  does  to  you.  If  you  want  us  to 
leave  you  will  have  to  put  us  out  by  force.  There  are 
other  Americans  at  Monterey  who  will  join  me.  I  fear 
neither  you,  nor  your  men." 

"You  will  rue  this,"  said  Castro,  as  he  withdrew. 
"I  will  yet  drive  you  from  our  country." 


204  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

The  Mexicans,  though  in  overwhelming  numbers, 
hesitated  to  attack  Fremont,  knowing  that  his  small 
force  of  forty  men  were  all  veterans.  So  they  stirred 
up  the  Apache  Indians  to  war  heat,  and  launched  these 
desperate  fighters  against  the  invaders  of  Californian 
soil. 

While  Fremont  rested  at  Lawson's  post,  word 
reached  him  of  the  approach  of  one  thousand  well- 
armed  Apaches,  who  were  determined  to  put  to  death 
every  white  man  in  California.  "We  must  leave  this 
post  at  once,"  said  Fremont  to  his  men,  "for  we  are 
in  a  basin  around  which  are  towering  hills  which,  if 
the  enemy  once  hold,  will  be  of  tremendous  value  to 
them,  for  they  can  shoot  down  upon  us.  We  must 
inarch  against  the  enemy." 

With  a  cheer,  showing  their  excellent  fighting 
spirit,  the  men  moved  out  for  the  attack,  and  proceeded 
about  fifty  miles  before  they  discovered  the  position  of 
the  redskins.  The  horses  had  not  been  pushed,  as  they 
realized  the  necessity  of  having  fresh  mounts  when 
the  red  men  should  be  met  with.  It  was  a  beautiful 
clear  evening  when  the  scouts  rode  into  the  lines,  crying: 
"  The  Apaches  are  going  into  camp.  They  do  not  know 
of  our  whereabouts.  We  can  surprise  them  and  drive 
them  out  of  the  country!" 

"We  will  surround  them  when  they  are  asleep," 
said  Fremont.  "Let  every  man  fight  as  he  never 
fought  before,  for  if  we  do  not  beat  them  it  means 
that  none  of  us  shall  ever  see  our  friends  again." 

At  about  ten  o'clock  that  night  the  Indian  camp 
had  been  surrounded.  At  the  word  of  command,  the 


KIT   CARSON  205 

plainsmen  put  spurs  to  their  horses  and  galloped  down 
upon  the  unsuspecting  red  men  before  they  were  aware 
of  their  presence.  They  were  thrown  into  the  greatest 
confusion,  and  before  they  could  rally  hundreds  of 
them  were  shot  down  as  they  crawled  from  their  tepees. 
The  Apaches  were  panic  stricken  and  retreated  in  the 
wildest  confusion,  while  the  invaders  ruthlessly  cut 
down  all  who  stood  in  their  path.  It  was  a  bloody 
slaughter, —  but  no  more  bloody  than  the  slaughter 
which  these  self-same  Apaches  would  have  administered 
to  them,  had  they  awaited  their  coming  and  been  caught 
unawares. 

This  victory  taught  the  Apaches  a  lesson.  They 
no  longer  listened  to  the  words  of  the  Mexicans.  While 
the  remnant  of  the  once  powerful  fighting  force  retreated 
south,  Fremont  and  his  hardy  crew  departed  towards 
Oregon  to  explore  the  vast  and  prosperous  country. 
"They  were,"  says  a  writer,  "a  tough  looking  crew. 
A  vast  cloud  of  dust  appeared  first,  and  thence,  in  a 
long  file,  emerged  this  wildest  war  party.  Fremont 
rode  ahead,  a  spare,  active-looking  man,  with  such  an 
eye!  He  was  dressed  in  a  blouse  and  leggins,  and 
wore  a  felt  hat.  After  him  came  five  Delaware  Indians, 
who  were  his  body-guard,  and  have  been  with  him 
through  all  his  wanderings.  They  were  his  body-guard 
and  had  charge  of  the  two  baggage  horses. 

"The  rest,  many  of  them  blacker  than  the  Indians, 
rode  two  and  two,  the  rifle  held  in  one  hand  across  the 
pommel  of  the  saddle.  Thirty-nine  of  them  are  his 
regular  men,  the  rest  are  loafers  whom  he  has  lately 
picked  up.  His  original  men  are  principally  the 


206  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

woodsmen  from  the  State  of  Tennessee  and  the  banks 
of  the  upper  waters  of  the  Missouri.  The  dress  of  these 
was  principally  a  long,  loose  coat  of  deer  skin,  tied  with 
thongs  in  front;  trousers  of  the  same  of  their  own  manu- 
facture, which,  when  wet  through,  they  take  off,  scrape 
well  inside  with  a  knife,  and  put  on  as  soon  as  dry.  The 
saddles  were  of  various  fashions,  though  these,  and  a 
large  drove  of  horses  and  a  brass  field-gun,  were  things 
they  had  picked  up  around  California.  They  are  allowed 
no  liquor, —  tea  and  sugar  only.  This,  no  doubt,  has 
much  to  do  with  their  good  conduct,  and  the  discipline, 
too,  is  very  strict." 

There  were  numerous  skirmishes  with  the  hostile 
redskins  and,  when  the  explorers  returned  to  Lawson's 
post  they  found  that  the  Mexicans  were  again  prepared 
to  dispute  their  advance.  At  Sonoma  was  a  strong 
garrison,  but  this  fort  was  attacked,  and  carried.  All 
the  Americans  in  the  district  now  rallied  to  Fremont's 
standard,  and  marched  against  eight  hundred  Mexicans 
sent  out  by  General  Castro  from  San  Francisco,  crying, 
"We  will  exterminate  every  American  hi  California." 
Instead  of  this,  they  retreated  as  soon  as  Fremont  and 
his  men  approached,  and  were  pursued  for  six  days  be- 
fore they  hurriedly  disbanded.  Detachments  from  a 
fleet  of  United  States  cruisers  now  aided  the  victorious 
Fremont  in  an  attack  upon  Monterey,  and  a  flag  was 
adopted,  composed  of  red  and  white  bunting  with  the 
figure  of  a  bear  in  the  centre.  The  independence  of  Cali- 
fornia was  declared,  and  the  "Bear  Flag"  became  the 
emblem  of  its  nationality. 

California  was  now  practically  free  from  Mexican 


KIT   CARSON  207 

rule, —  thanks  to  Fremont,  Kit  Carson,  and  their  small 
force  of  adventurous  plainsmen.  Other  American  troops 
arrived  on  the  scene  under  General  Kearney,  and  taking 
possession  of  the  fort  at  Los  Angeles,  practically  closed 
the  hostilities  between  the  Mexicans  and  wild  band  of 
original  rough  riders.  Forty  men  had  made  the  first 
blow  which  struck  the  shackles  of  Mexican  dominion 
from  the  fair  soil  of  California,  the  Golden  State.  And 
Carson  had  not  been  the  least  of  these. 

Kit  Carson  returned  to  New  Mexico.  On  his  way 
back  he  passed  the  Little  Salt  Lake,  near  the  Wahsatch 
Mountains,  whose  summits  were  covered  with  many  feet 
of  snow.  In  crossing  a  deep  gorge,  suddenly  he  and  his 
party  stumbled  upon  the  remains  of  ten  human  beings, 
whose  bones  lay  bleaching  in  the  bright  rays  of  the  sun. 
Hungry  wolves  had  gnawed  and  torn  them,  so  that  they 
were  widely  scattered.  "These  are  the  relics  of  some 
unfortunate  party  of  whites  that  has  been  cut  off  by 
the  red  men,"  said  Carson,  sadly.  "  One  of  these  lying 
apart  from  the  rest,  from  the  bullets  and  arrow  heads 
in  the  tree  nearby,  must  have  belonged  to  one  of  the 
party  who  fought  from  this  shelter  until  overcome  by 
the  enemy." 

It  was  subsequently  learned  that  these  bones  be- 
longed to  a  party  of  Americans  from  Arkansas  who  had 
been  surprised  by  hostile  red  men,  while  resting  to  eat 
their  luncheon  at  noon,  and  that  they  had  been  all 
killed,  with  the  exception  of  one  of  their  number,  who 
snatched  up  his  rifle,  retreated  to  the  nearest  cover,  and 
there  put  up  a  despairing  battle,  slaying  several  of  his 
attackers,  before  he  was  dispatched  by  the  arrows  of  the 


208  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

murderous  redskins.  Such  episodes  were  common  in 
the  settlement  of  western  America,  and  show  what  des- 
perate chances  men  would  take  when  penetrating  into 
the  unknown. 

The  rest  of  Kit  Carson's  life  was  spent  in  ranching 
and  fighting  Indians,  a  business  which  he  was  now  an 
adept  in.  One  little  fight  of  his  deserves  special  mention. 

Some  Apaches  raided  the  settlements  near  the  home 
of  the  famous  scout  and,  after  murdering  several  of 
the  settlers,  made  off  into  the  mountains.  Carson 
started  in  pursuit  with  a  band  of  revengeful  white  men 
and  tracked  them  to  a  strong  position  in  the  mountains. 
So  eager  was  old  Kit  to  avenge  the  slaughter  of  his  friends 
that  he  gave  a  wild  shout  and  dashed  after  the  savages, 
expecting,  of  course,  to  be  reinforced  by  his  companions. 
But,  as  he  galloped  towards  the  red  men,  his  friends 
fell  back,  and  he  suddenly  found  himself  alone  among 
the  red  men. 

One  of  Carson's  great  characteristics  was  his  absolute 
coolness  in  time  of  danger.  As  the  red  men,  with  a  wild, 
ear-splitting  yelp  of  hatred,  debouched  from  their  hiding 
place  and  galloped  around  him,  in  a  second  he  threw 
himself  upon  the  off  side  of  his  horse,  and  rode  back 
towards  his  party.  Fortunately  for  him,  the  Apaches 
had  only  arrows.  Six  stuck  into  Kit's  trusty  horse  as 
he  beat  this  wild  retreat,  and  a  bullet  passed  through  his 
coat  tail.  But  he  came  off  scott  free,  and  was  soon 
laughing  and  smiling  with  his  companions,  as  the  red- 
skins were  forced  to  withdraw  from  a  well-aimed  volley 
of  the  whites.  The  Apaches  scattered  and  escaped  into 
the  wild  passes  of  the  bleak  and  barren  mountains. 


KIT   CARSON  209 

Such  was  his  reputation  in  fighting  these  scourges 
of  the  settlements  that,  in  1862,  the  gallant  Kit  was 
entrusted  with  an  important  command  against  some  of 
the  thieving  and  murdering  tribes  of  New  Mexico  and 
Arizona.  He  brought  the  Mescaleros  to  terms.  He 
made  such  a  spirited  attack  upon  the  Navajoes  that 
they  finally  unconditionally  surrendered  and  were  placed 
in  a  government  reservation.  Near  the  Canadian 
River,  in  Texas,  he  attacked  a  Kiowa  village  of  about 
one  hundred  and  fifty  lodges  and  signally  defeated  this 
strong  and  powerful  tribe.  "  This  brilliant  affair/' 
said  his  commanding  officer,  "adds  another  leaf  to  the 
laurel  wreath  which  you  have  so  nobly  won  in  the  ser- 
vice of  your  country."  And  with  all  this  praise,  sturdy 
old  Kit  —  now  a  general  —  was  as  modest  as  a  child. 
Such  was  his  power  among  the  redskins  that  he  was 
appointed  Indian  agent,  a  post  which  he  filled  with 
the  greatest  satisfaction  to  the  United  States  Govern- 
ment. 

All  men  must  grow  old.  The  wiry  and  indefatigable 
scout,  ranchman,  Indian  fighter  and  soldier  began  to 
show  signs  of  the  hard  life  which  he  had  led  upon  the 
plains.  In  spite  of  his  years,  in  January,  1868,  he  was 
called  to  Washington  to  give  evidence  and  advice  in  a 
dispute  between  the  Government  and  the  Apaches.  A 
number  of  these  fierce  warriors  accompanied  him. 

The  journey  of  the  famous  plainsman  to  the  East 
was  a  great  triumphal  tour.  Everywhere  along  the 
route  flags  were  raised  and  cities  were  decorated  with 
flowers  and  bunting  in  token  of  the  great  admiration 
which  was  felt  for  the  famous  pioneer  and  Indian  fighter; 


210  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

for  he  embodied  characteristics  which  all  admire, —  cool- 
ness, good  sense,  honesty  and  courage. 

In  March,  the  great  pioneer  returned  to  New  Mexico, 
well  pleased  and  gratified  with  the  honors  which  his 
grateful  countrymen  had  showered  upon  him.  But 
the  Angel  of  Death  hovered  over  the  once  vigorous 
frame  of  the  mighty  pioneer.  On  the  23d  of  May,  1868, 
while  visiting  his  son  at  Fort  Lyons,  Colorado,  and  when 
in  the  act  of  mounting  a  horse,  an  artery  in  his  neck  was 
ruptured,  and  in  a  few  moments  the  soul  of  the  great 
plainsman  had  gone  to  the  great  beyond. 

So  remember  the  famous  mountaineer,  trapper, 
guide,  pioneer,  and  Indian  counsellor.  As  a  frontiers- 
man he  had  no  superior.  His  reputation  was  never 
tainted  with  any  moral  stain;  he  was  neither  a  mur- 
derer, or  a  man  who  engaged  in  frontier  brawls.  The 
times  bred  men  of  courage,  and  he  was  one  of  these. 
The  wild  country  needed  men  of  clear  head  and  un- 
daunted nerve  to  advance  its  civilization,  and  it  found 
its  path  maker  in  brave  Kit  Carson.  All  honor  to  the 
New  Mexican  sheep-rancher,  Indian  fighter,  and  man 
of  the  plains.  He  lived  his  wild  life  and  lived  it  well. 
No  man  could  have  done  better  than  he.  Skoal  to  the 
Nestor  of  the  Rocky  Mountains! 


GENERAL    WILLIAM    A.    HARNEY. 


•'•**' 


GENERAL   WILLIAM  A.    HARNEY:  THE 

EVERGLADE    FIGHTER   AND 

MARVELLOUS   RUNNER. 

AT  Two  Thousand  Mile  Creek,  in  the  then  un- 
explored country  of  the  Middle  West,  a  con- 
ference was  being  held  between  the  Crows, 
Mandans,  and  Gros  Ventres  Indians,  on  the  one  hand, 
and  some  officers  of  the  United  States  army,  on  the 
other. 

"We  wish  to  have  the  restoration  of  a  family  of 
British  subjects  which  you  have  with  you,"  said  a 
Major  O'Fallon  to  the  chiefs  in  council.  "The  Minister, 
or  he-who-makes-big-talk  for  the  men  beyond  the 
seas,  has  asked  that  they  be  returned.  We  want 
them  now." 

"Ugh!"  grunted  a  fat  chief.  "We  will  give  back 
the  people  of  the  men-who-live-beyond-the-great- 
waters,  but  we  must  have  much  for  them.  We  want 
heap  rifle,  ball,  blanket,  whiskey  for,  the  people  of  the 
man-who-makes-big-tal  k. ' ' 

At  this  outrageous  demand  the  eyes  of  the  gallant 
major  began  to  flash  fire. 

"You  shall  give  them  back  without  any  ransom, 
at  all,"  he  said,  advancing  towards  the  redskins.  Seiz- 
ing his  long  army  pistol,  he  struck  the  speaker  over  the 
head  and  face  with  the  butt  end. 

Not  a  word  was  spoken  by  either  the  outraged  chief 
211 


212  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

or  the  rest  of  the  red  men.  Their  eyes  flashed  fire  as 
they  reached  for  their  rifles. 

At  this  juncture,  a  lithe  young  lieutenant  jumped 
forward  from  his  seat  upon  the  peace  blanket  and, 
seizing  the  irate  major  by  both  hands,  threw  him  to 
the  sod.  Immediately  the  well-disciplined  white  troops, 
who  saw  the  affair  from  afar,  came  running  up  in  order 
to  be  of  assistance  to  their  officers. 

"This  action  of  our  brother  is  the  act  of  a  mad  man," 
said  the  lieutenant,  to  the  infuriated  chiefs.  "Our 
brother  has  not  been  sleeping  well.  His  mind  is  as 
the  red  man's  when  he  has  partaken  of  the  fire  water 
of  the  white  man.  He  knows  not  what  he  does.  Come, 
I  would  take  you  by  the  hand  to  show  you  that  we  bear 
our  red  brethren  no  ill  will." 

As  he  advanced  towards  a  Crow  chieftain,  with  his 
arms  outstretched,  the  red  man  looked  upon  him  with 
sullen  defiance,  with  his  arms  folded. 

"Come,  brother,"  cried  the  lieutenant,  "I  wish 
to  make  peace  with  you.  Will  you  not  take  my  hand?" 

"Ugh!"  grunted  the  Crow.  "You  are  a  young 
man  with  the  eye  of  an  eagle.  You  have  the  look 
of  a  man  who  speaks  from  a  pure  heart.  You  are  a 
Hawk-with-a-beaver's-eye.  I  will  take  your  hand, 
for  I  believe  that  you  tell  what  is  true." 

And,  so  saying,  he  grasped  the  outstretched  hand 
of  the  United  States  officer.  Order  was  quickly  re- 
stored. The  negotiations  were  continued,  and  a  treaty 
of  peace  was  concluded,  whereby  the  red  men  secured 
an  excellent  ransom  for  their  prisoners. 

Ever  afterwards  the  young  lieutenant  was  known 


GENERAL  WILLIAM  S.  HARNEY   213 

as  the  Hawk-with-a-beaver's-eye,  and  ever  afterwards 
Lieutenant  William  S.  Harney  was  much  respected 
and  admired  among  the  red  men,  for  he  was  one  of  the 
few  white  men  who  kept  his  word,  and  upon  whose 
counsel  they  could  rely. 

This  noted  soldier  was  tall  and  spare.  He  possessed 
a  power  of  endurance  which  was  great,  and  the  reputa- 
tion of  the  man-who-could-run-like-the-deer  reached 
the  ears  of  the  redskins  dwelling  upon  the  waters  of 
the  upper  Missouri.  They  challenged  him  to  a  foot  race. 

Unfortunately,  although  Lieutenant  Harney  ac- 
cepted the  gage  of  battle,  he  ran  against  a  Crow  Indian, 
encumbered  with  his  uniform,  hi  the  pockets  of  which 
were  many  relics  and  curiosities  which  he  had  been 
buying  from  the  red  men.  The  Crow  athlete  soon 
outdistanced  him  and  came  in  first,  amid  the  cries  of 
joy  of  his  companions. 

"How!"  cried  the  lieutenant  when  he  had  regained 
his  breath.  "You  beat  me  fair.  But  I  will  run  you 
tomorrow.  Will  you  do  so?" 

"Ugh!  Ugh!"  cried  the  Crow.  "I  run  you  again 
for  heap  buffalo  robe  and  blanket.  Ugh!  Ugh!  You 
cannot  beat  me.  I  am  like  the  jack  rabbit  and  you 
are  like  the  tortoise." 

"We  shall  see,"  muttered  the  young  soldier,  as  he 
walked  away,  somewhat  nettled  by  the  remark  of 
the  bombastic  runner. 

Next  day  the  friends  of  the  Crow  warrior  appeared 
upon  the  flat  prairie,  laden  with  buffalo  robes,  tobacco, 
and  all  the  ornaments  that  they  could  pick  up,  in  order 
to  reward  the  winner.  Soon  the  lieutenant  arrived, 


214  FAMOUS    SCOUTS 

clad  only  in  a  pair  of  light,  linen  trousers,  a  shirt,  and 
a  pair  of  moccasins.  The  red  man  also  came  up  with 
nothing  on  but  a  breech  clout  and  moccasins. 

The  race  was  to  be  a  quarter  mile,  four  hundred 
and  forty  yards,  and  was  upon  a  natural  running  track, 
for  the  ground  was  perfectly  level,  covered  with  very 
short  grass.  A  red  man  started  the  two  contestants 
by  dropping  a  blanket,  and  like  two  greyhounds 
they  dashed  over  the  plain.  The  Indian  led  for  a 
hundred  yards,  while  the  wild  yelping  of  his  companions 
sounded  loud  above  the  beating  of  tom-toms  which 
the  women  were  banging  as  the  two  runners  came 
across  the  prairie.  On!  On!  they  came,  and  now 
Harney  grew  nearer  and  nearer  to  his  antagonist.  At 
two  hundred  and  twenty  yards  he  had  edged  up  to 
within  one  pace  of  the  Crow.  At  two  hundred  and 
thirty  yards  he  had  brushed  by  him  and,  amid  the 
wildest  yelling  and  screeching  that  had  been  heard  in 
that  country  for  many  moons,  the  white  man  came 
down  the  finish,  leading  by  full  five  yards.  A  piece 
of  deer  thong  had  been  stretched  between  two  spears, 
to  act  as  a  line  for  the  end  of  the  race,  and,  as  Harney's 
waist  snapped  the  cord,  the  most  ear-splitting  screech 
arose  from  the  throats  of  the  red  men.  He  was  seized 
and  carried  in  triumph  from  the  field. 

"I  wouldn't  have  had  you  lose  that  race  for  one 
thousand  dollars,"  said  General  Atkinson,  his  command- 
ing officer.  "These  red  men  would  have  never  let  me 
alone  if  you  had  lost.  They  would  have  rubbed  it  in 
for  years,  claiming  that  the  Indians  were  far  superior 
to  the  whites  in  athletic  ability." 


GENERAL  WILLIAM  S.  HARNEY   215 

In  the  winter  of  1829  the  winner  of  this  famous 
foot  race  was  stationed  at  Portage-des-Sioux,  between 
the  Fox  and  the  Wisconsin  rivers,  and  had  under  his 
command  several  red  men  who  were  enrolled  as  scouts 
and  runners.  One  of  them,  Little  Turtle  Egg,  had 
broken  one  of  the  rules  of  the  garrison,  so  the  com- 
mander determined  to  administer  a  flogging  to  him. 
As  he  believed  in  giving  every  one  a  fair  chance,  he  told 
the  redskin  that  he  would  give  him  a  start  of  twenty- 
five  yards,  and,  if  he  could  reach  a  certain  point  before 
he  was  caught,  he  could  go  free.  "How!  How!" 
said  the  red  man.  "  You  one  fast  runner,  but  you  give 
me  a  good  start.  I  will  do  as  you  say." 

Arming  himself  with  a  stout  cow-hide  stick  with 
which  to  beat  the  Indian,  Harney  took  his  position  out- 
side the  fort,  giving  the  red  man  his  desired  number  of 
yards.  At  the  report  of  a  pistol,  fired  by  one  of  the 
soldiers,  they  were  both  off. 

For  a  time  the  redskin  held  his  own,  but  soon  the 
fleet  feet  of  the  white  man  carried  him  nearer  and 
nearer  to  the  fleeing  Indian.  But  the  fugitive  had  his 
good  sense  with  him.  He  suddenly  turned  and  directed 
his  course  to  one  of  the  numerous  air  holes  in  the  river, 
where  the  ice  was  exceedingly  thin.  With  a  bound, 
he  leaped  over  the  thinnest  part  and  galloped  off  across 
the  firmer  ice,  not  daring  to  look  behind  him  as  he  ran. 
Harney  reached  the  place  and  started  to  jump,  also, 
but  suddenly  —  splash! — the  surface  gave  way  and 
he  was  plunged  into  the  ice-cold  water.  The  cow-hide 
whip  sank  to  the  bottom,  and  it  was  fully  twenty 
minutes  before  the  soldiers  from  the  fort  extracted 


216  FAMOUS    SCOUTS 

their  gallant  commander.  Meanwhile,  the  redskin 
was  laughing  softly  in  the  forest. 

You  know  about  the  Black  Hawk  War  so  fully 
described  in  "Famous  Indian  Chiefs,"  so  I  will  not 
describe  the  causes  which  led  to  its  outbreak.  Lieu- 
tenant Harney  was  a  captain  at  the  time  of  this  Indian 
uprising,  and,  at  Fort  Armstrong,  made  the  acquaint- 
ance of  Colonel  Zachary  Taylor  who  was  subsequently 
to  be  President  of  the  United  States,  and  also  of  a 
young  militia  captain,  a  country  lawyer  called  Abra- 
ham Lincoln;  also  a  future  Chief  Executive.  « 

In  a  council  of  war  which  was  held  among  the 
soldiers,  after  the  Indians  had  been  driven  far  into 
the  woods,  Captain  Harney  remarked: 

"The  Indians  have  but  one  hiding  place  in  the 
whole  country,  and  it  will  be  very  difficult  to  find. 
If  you  will  allow  me,  General  Atkinson,  I  will  take 
fifty  men  and  make  a  reconnoissance." 

The  general  shook  his  head.  "Such  a  force  would 
be  too  small,"  he  replied.  "The  party  would  be  in 
great  danger  of  being  cut  off.  Take  three  hundred 
Pottawattomies  with  you  and  you  will  have  some 
show  with  the  enemy." 

But,  when  the  chief  of  these  friendly  Indians  was 
approached,  he  said,  "  Black  Hawk  got  many  warriors, 
he  jump  out  from  ambush  and  kill  such  few  Indians  and 
white  men.  Captain  Harney  he  big  fool  to  go  without 
big  army.  Ugh!  We  stay  behind.  No  fight  without 
big  army." 

"Well,"  ejaculated  Harney.  "If  you  won't  go, 
I'll  clean  'em  up  with  my  fifty." 


GENERAL  WILLIAM  S.  HARNEY   217 

And,  as  the  redskins  looked  on  sneeringly,  the  bold 
captain  started  out  to  find  Black  Hawk  with  his  far 
inferior  force.  A  few  friendly  Menominees  went  with 
him,  but  they  soon  deserted,  leaving  only  one  of  their 
number,  who  had  once  had  a  severe  personal  encounter 
with  the  fleetest  runner  among  the  whites. 

"Me  stay  with  Captain  Harney,"  said  he.  "Me 
stay  and  die  with  him,  for  he  one  big  runner,  one  big 
fighter,  him  one  big  man." 

As  a  matter  of  fact  the  redskins  were  not  found 
ready  for  battle.  Black  Hawk  and  his  men  were  dis- 
covered to  be  retreating  towards  the  Wisconsin  River. 
So  the  willing  fifty  came  back  to  warn  General  At- 
kinson of  the  position  of  his  foe. 

"We  will  finish  the  war,  right  now,"  cried  that 
soldier,  when  he  learned  that  Black  Hawk  had  deter- 
mined to  make  a  stand.  "Forward,  men,  we  will 
avenge  the  depredations  upon  our  frontier!" 

By  a  forced  march  the  band  under  Black  Hawk 
was  finally  struck  in  a  position  that  was  naturally 
well  suited  for  defense.  The  warriors  were  desperately 
attacked  and,  forced  from  their  position,  they  backed 
away  towards  the  Mississippi  in  order  to  make  another 
stand.  But  here  the  American  troops  again  attacked 
them  impetuously  and,  although  Black  Hawk  urged 
on  his  men  with  lofty  courage,  they  were  driven  from 
hill  to  hill,  like  the  Old  Guard  at  Waterloo.  And 
here  —  like  the  English  troops  at  the  great  battle  in 
Belgium  —  the  Americans  made  a  last  furious  onset, 
and  drove  those  who  had  survived  their  former  attacks 
into  the  river.  Harney  was  in  the  thick  of  this  battle 


218  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

of  the  Bad  Axe,  and  right  well  did  he  distinguish  him- 
self. Black  Hawk  —  as  you  know  —  fled  up  the 
river  and  hid  himself  in  the  woods  where,  after  a  two 
days'  search,  he  was  discovered  by  some  friendly  Sioux 
and  turned  over  to  the  white  troops.  His  star  had 
set. 

The  next  campaign  in  which  Captain  Harney  en- 
gaged was  the  fierce  one  against  Osceola  in  the  Ever- 
glades of  Florida.  During  the  long  campaign  which 
here  took  place,  before  the  Seminoles  were  finally 
subdued,  Colonel  Harney  (for  he  had  now  been  ad- 
vanced in  rank)  had  many  exciting  adventures.  Here 
is  one  of  them: 

With  a  number  of  dismounted  dragoons,  the  cele- 
brated soldier  was  sent  to  capture  Sam  Jones,  one  of 
the  head  chiefs  of  the  Seminoles,  who  had  massacred 
many  whites.  By  forced  night  marches  he  pursued 
him  and  his  men  far  into  the  jungle  and  surprised  them. 
They  fled  into  the  miry  swamps  in  a  tangled  morass 
through  which  the  troops  could  not  follow.  And  — 
as  they  rushed  after  the  flying  savages  —  one  of  the 
soldiers  shot  a  squaw,  mistaking  her  hi  the  confusion 
of  battle  for  a  warrior. 

Colonel  Harney  was  greatly  distressed  because  the 
injury  had  been  accidental  and  had  been  inflicted  upon 
a  woman.  The  soldiers  did  all  that  they  could  to 
relieve  her.  They  were  at  considerable  loss  to  know 
what  to  do  with  her. 

"I  have  a  suggestion  which  I  think  is  good,"  said 
Harney.  "  If  we  leave  her,  her  friends  will  come  after 
her,  at  night.  We  will  not  capture  those  who  come 


GENERAL  WILLIAM  S.  JIARNEY   219 

and  will  allow  them  to  take  their  own  flesh  and  blood 
away.  Even  if  Sam  Jones,  himself,  should  come, 
I  will  still  allow  her  to  go,  but  this  is  hardly  a  pos- 
sibility." 

Here  he  was  mistaken.  As  the  shadows  of  night 
began  to  fall,  two  dark  figures  glided  from  the  under- 
brush straight  to  the  spot  where  the  woman  was  lying. 
They  seized  her  and,  as  a  bright  gleam  of  the  early 
moon  fell  upon  the  two  warriors,  Colonel  Harney  saw 
that  it  was  Sam  Jones,  himself.  It  was  hard  to  restrain 
himself  from  leaping  upon  the  figure  of  this  arch  des- 
perado, but  he  remembered  his  word  and  allowed 
him  to  go  free. 

The  Seminole  woman  recovered.  When  months 
afterwards  the  tribe  was  met  by  Colonel  Harney  and 
his  dragoons,  to  decide  upon  peace,  she  went  up  to 
him  and,  kneeling,  kissed  the  skirt  of  his  coat. 

"  You  one  good  man,"  said  she.  "  You  give  me  my 
life.  I  never  forget  you." 

A  month  later,  when  leaving  his  tent  one  morn- 
ing, he  found  a  gayly  knitted  scarf  tied  to  the  tent 
pole,  and  on  it  were  the  words,  "To  the  mighty  runner, 
from  Tuscalora.  Good  luck." 

In  spite  of  this  the  colonel  soon  had  some  very  bad 
luck. 

A  treaty  was  made  with  the  Seminoles  and  Colonel 
Harney  was  directed  to  select  a  suitable  site  for  a 
trading  house,  to  be  built  in  the  reservation  set  aside 
for  the  redskins.  A  site  was  selected  on  the  Caloo- 
sahatchie  River,  fifteen  miles  above  the  mouth  of  this 
stream,  and  thirty  dismounted  dragoons  were  here 


220  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

left  in  charge,  while  the  colonel  made  a  short  trip  to 
General  Taylor's  headquarters  at  Tampa  Bay.  He 
requested  two  companies  of  troops  to  protect  the  re- 
cently erected  house,  but  these  were  refused  him. 
So  he  turned  back  to  the  post,  naturally  much  dis- 
gruntled. 

While  he  was  away  a  letter  had  come  from  the 
Secretary  of  War,  at  Washington,  to  the  effect  that 
the  truce  with  the  Seminoles  was  only  temporary, 
and  that  a  new  one  would  have  to  be  agreed  to.  In 
some  mysterious  way  the  redskins  heard  of  it  and  swift 
runners  spread  the  news  among  all  the  tribes,  before 
the  whites  themselves  knew  the  contents  of  the  letter. 
Colonel  Harney  himself  had  not  heard  of  it. 

When  he  had  returned  to  the  newly-founded  post 
and  was  on  a  boat,  anchored  hi  the  stream,  the  famous 
chief  Billy  Bowlegs  came  on  board  and  told  him  that 
the  Seminole  chiefs  wished  to  see  him  before  he  left. 
Never  guessing  that  the  Indians  had  heard  something 
from  Washington,  he  decided  to  go  ashore  and  to  spend 
the  night  hi  a  canvas  tent  which  he  had  here  erected. 
As  no  red  men  appeared  in  the  morning,  he  went  out  hunt- 
ing, returning  at  nine  in  the  evening  thoroughly  worn 
out  with  his  exertions.  Removing  his  coat  and  his 
boots,  he  lay  down  with  the  full  intention  of  getting 
up  when  the  sergeant-of-the-guard  posted  the  sen- 
tinels. But  he  fell  asleep. 

As  daylight  stole  over  the  river,  Harney  jumped 
up  with  a  start.  Guns  were  going  off.  Indian  yelpings 
sounded  from  the  woodland,  and  shouts  in  the  familiar 
voices  of  his  own  men.  "Run  to  the  water!  Quick," 


GENERAL  WILLIAM  S.  HARNEY   221 

he  heard  a  sentry  cry  out  and,  as  he  bounded  into  the 
open,  he  saw  many  of  his  men  standing  in  the  river 
up  to  their  necks,  and  wholly  unarmed.  He  deter- 
mined to  save  himself. 

Turning  towards  the  river,  the  startled  officer  ran 
about  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  and  then  walked  a  few  paces 
into  the  shallow  water.  He  came  back  and  went  up 
the  bank  with  his  toes  pointing  towards  the  water  so 
that  it  would  seem  as  if  two  white  men  had  been  drowned 
at  this  place,  after  entering  the  rapid  current  of  the 
Caloosahatchie.  Next  he  swam  about  two  hundred 
yards  down  stream  and  took  to  the  brush. 

Meanwhile  what  had  happened  to  the  men  who  were 
standing  in  the  water,  hoping  to  elude  the  red  men? 

The  redskins  rushed  down  to  the  bank  of  the  sweet- 
named  river,  and  with  wild  and  hilarious  yelpings 
fired  their  arrows  at  the  helpless  dragoons.  Unfor- 
tunately few  of  the  whites  could  swim.  Some  seized 
an  old  flatboat  and  escaped,  but  the  majority  were 
massacred  by  the  half-wild  Seminoles,  whose  blood- 
curdling yells  echoed  through  the  stillness  of  the  dark 
and  sombre  forests.  As  soon  as  the  last  unfortunate 
American  soldier  had  been  thus  murdered,  the  red 
men  rushed  frantically  towards  the  tent  of  Colonel 
Hamey.  With  an  ear-splitting  whoop  they  announced 
the  unwelcome  intelligence  that  he  had  vanished  and, 
taking  up  his  trail,  they  dashed  towards  the  river  in 
wild  pursuit. 

When  the  war-mad  Seminoles  reached  the  water 
and  saw  the  two  trails  leading  from  the  bank,  they 
gave  a  great  yeD  of  defiant  joy. 


222  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

"See.  The  man-who-fight-much,  he  rather  drown 
than  meet  us,"  cried  a  warrior. 

"Ugh!  Ugh!"  mumbled  a  disappointed  Seminole 
warrior.  "He  no  fight  this  time.  He  much  talk. 
He  one  big  coward." 

Meanwhile  Harney  was  creeping  through  the  under- 
brush upon  the  other  side  of  the  river,  and  was  making 
off  down  a  woodland  path.  As  he  rounded  a  dense 
covert,  he  discovered  to  his  horror  that  a  large  man 
was  coming  towards  him,  and  thinking  that  it  was  a 
Seminole,  he  drew  his  pocket  knife,  pulled  out  the 
largest  blade,  and  stood  ready  to  plunge  it  into  whom- 
soever should  approach. 

As  the  figure  came  nearer,  suddenly  the  light  from 
the  sun  penetrated  the  gloom  of  the  Everglades,  and 
shone  upon  the  face  of  one  of  the  colonel's  own  dragoons. 
Immediately  the  fleeing  officer  leaped  from  the  brush 
and,  instead  of  stabbing  the  oncomer,  threw  his  arms 
about  him  in  a  transport  of  joy.  "  I  was  one  of  the  few 
who  could  swim,"  said  the  dragoon,  whose  name  was 
Britton.  "I  followed  you  across  the  river,  hoping  to 
catch  up  with  you,  and  I  am  glad  that  I  have  done  so. 
We  must  make  for  one  of  the  forts  as  fast  as  we  can." 

Harney  said  nothing,  but  grimly  plunged  into  the 
gloomy  forest,  over  the  mangrove  roots  and  saw- 
grass  that  lacerated  his  unprotected  feet  and  made 
progress  both  slow  and  tiresome.  Blacking  their 
faces  with  charred  wood  left  from  camp-fires  of  both 
red  men  and  white,  so  that  they  might  better  disguise 
themselves,  they  plodded  sullenly  through  the  tangle 
of  vegetation. 


GENERAL  WILLIAM  S.  HARNEY   223 

So  they  moved  onward  for  several  hours  when, 
as  they  neared  a  winding  curve  of  the  river,  Britton 
heard  a  voice  in  the  stillness.  "Hist!"  he  whispered. 
"It  may  be  the  Seminoles  in  canoes.  I  will  creep  up 
to  the  bank  and  look." 

Worming  upon  his  stomach  through  the  dense 
weeds,  he  peered  through  the  branches  at  the  shim- 
mering current  of  the  Caloosahatchie.  A  flight  of  birds 
flew  screaming  through  the  jungle  as  he  reached  the 
water's  edge,  and,  as  he  gazed  out  upon  the  broad  ex- 
panse of  river,  he  saw  a  canoe  in  which  two  Seminoles 
paddled  stealthily  up  the  stream.  In  a  moment  he  had 
turned  and  was  back  at  Harney's  side. 

"Britton,  can  you  fight?"  asked  the  colonel. 

"I  will  die  with  you,"  answered  the  dragoon. 

"Then  we'll  have  a  little  tug-of-war  right  now. 
Do  not  let  one  of  them  stab  me  in  the  back  when  I  am 
fighting  with  the  other.  I  can  soon  overcome  and 
kill  one  of  these  fellows  and  then  I  will  be  all  ready 
for  the  second.  Where  are  they?" 

"Under  the  wild  fig  tree  near  the  big  bend." 

"I  will  go  now.  Be  sure  and  keep  a  sharp  watch 
for  other  redskins  and,  if  you  see  another  canoe  ap- 
proaching, be  certain  to  warn  me." 

As  Harney  crept  towards  the  wild  fig  tree,  his 
heart  beat  tumultuously,  but  he  was  bold  and  deter- 
mined; besides,  in  his  heart  was  a  sickening  hatred 
for  the  men  who  had  helped  to  butcher  his  companions 
in  the  morning.  The  red  men  had  gone  ashore.  When 
they  saw  him  coming  they  dashed  towards  their  boat, 
but  the  fleet-footed  colonel  was  before  them.  He 


224  FAMOUS    SCOUTS 

jumped  into  it,  seized  a  loaded  rifle  which  the  Seminoles 
had  been  incautious  enough  to  leave  inside  and,  level- 
ling it  at  a  running  red  man,  bowled  him  over  like 
a  jack  rabbit.  The  other,  seeing  Britton  as  he  ran 
up,  decided  that  the  Everglades  was  the  best  place 
for  him.  So  he  made  off,  pursued  by  a  bullet  from 
a  second  load  which  Harney  had  rapidly  shoved  into 
the  barrel.  It  missed  him  by  a  hundred  feet. 

Now  paddling  down  the  stream,  the  two  adventurers 
soon  overtook  those  of  the  dragoons  who  had  escaped 
in  the  flatboat.  "I  am  going  to  return  to  our  camp," 
cried  the  bold-hearted  colonel,  "for  I  want  to  see 
what  has  become  of  my  brave  men.  I  cannot  com- 
prehend what  precipitated  this  attack,  as  the  Seminoles 
have  always  been  friendly  since  the  signing  of  the 
treaty."  He  was,  as  yet,  wholly  ignorant  of  the  reason 
for  this  sudden  and  wayward  assault  by  the  men  of 
the  Everglades. 

With  seven  men,  this  courageous  warrior  returned 
that  evening  to  the  former  camp  in  order  to  ascertain 
who  had  been  killed.  Leaving  two  men  to  watch  the 
boat  and  canoe,  he  proceeded  to  the  camp,  —  there 
to  find  the  mutilated  bodies  of  the  dead  soldiers,  all 
of  them  hacked  beyond  recognition.  Five,  indeed, 
were  not  to  be  accounted  for,  so  a  great  shouting  and 
hallooing  was  indulged  in  by  the  live  soldiers.  It  was 
learned  afterwards  that  two  heard  the  shouts  but, 
fearing  that  it  was  a  ruse  of  the  Seminoles  to  draw  them 
from  their  hiding  places,  they  remained  where  they 
were. 

Next  day  the  survivors  of  this  sudden  and  un- 


GENERAL  WILLIAM  S.  HARNEY   225 

expected  attack  journeyed  to  Florida  Bay  and  there 
learned  of  the  letter  of  the  Secretary  of  War,  which 
had  precipitated  the  early  morning  assault.  The  news 
of  the  massacre  of  Colonel  Harney's  men  spread  rapidly 
over  Florida  and  produced  the  most  profound  sensa- 
tion, leading  to  the  bloodiest  kind  of  hostilities.  Yet 
the  ignorant  Secretary  of  War,  whose  absurd  conduct 
had  been  the  cause  of  all  this,  was  retained  in  the  Cabi- 
net of  the  President  of  the  United  States;  his  conduct 
condoned  and  not  censured.  By  his  mandate  blood- 
hounds were  imported  into  the  Everglades  to  hunt 
down  the  Seminoles  who,  like  the  water  moccasin, 
glided  through  the  underbrush  and  cane  thickets  with 
slippery  quiet.  The  hounds  were  found  to  be  "per- 
fectly useless,"  and  never  were  many  of  the  roving 
Seminoles  come  upon. 

Now  came  the  last  battle  of  this  strange  warfare 
in  the  Florida  Everglades. 

In  December,  1840,  orders  came  to  Colonel  Harney 
to  push  into  the  Everglades  and  attack  the  chief  Chai- 
kika,  a  Spanish  Indian,  and  a  ruthless  fighter.  The 
cunning  red  man  had  made  his  home  deep  in  the  centre 
of  the  miasmic  Everglades.  On  an  island  he  had  taken 
refuge,  where  there  was  a  vast  expanse  of  water,  vary- 
ing from  one  to  five  feet  in  depth,  covered  with  an 
almost  impenetrable  saw  grass,  except  where  curving 
channels  extended  in  every  direction,  dotted  with 
innumerable  islands.  It  was  known  that  many  of  the 
Seminoles  had  taken  refuge  in  this  weedy  waste. 

A  negro  who  had  been  captured  by  the  red  men 
came  to  the  camp  of  the  soldiers  and  told  them  where 


226  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

to  find  the  Seminoles.  With  ninety  men  in  boats 
Colonel  Harney  therefore  started  for  the  home  of  the 
men  of  the  marshes,  who  had  stood  out  against  the 
power  of  the  government  for  so  long  a  time  and  had 
massacred  so  many  of  those  of  the  opposite  race.  The 
negro  knew  well  how  to  find  the  way.  He  led  the 
soldiers  directly  to  the  island  where  the  Indians  were 
encamped  in  fancied  peace  and  security,  with  Chai- 
kika  sprawling  upon  the  grass,  in  total  unconsciousness 
of  the  presence  of  those  troops  upon  whose  comrades 
he  had  perpetrated  the  frightful  massacre  of  the  Caloosa- 
hatchie. 

As  the  soldiers  approached,  the  chief  arose  from  his 
position  and  began  to  chop  wood.  When  the  men 
of  the  United  States  army  dashed  towards  him,  he 
dropped  his  axe  and,  in  the  words  of  an  old  writer, 
"  took  to  the  tall  grass."  Two  or  three  dragoons  started 
in  pursuit,  but  only  one  could  keep  up  with  the  speedy 
red  man.  It  was  a  trooper  named  Hall,  who  had  shot 
the  squaw  by  mistake  in  that  previous  skirmish  with 
the  Seminoles. 

Seeing  that  he  was  to  be  overtaken,  the  cruel  red- 
skin turned  and  threw  up  his  hands  in  token  of  sub- 
mission. "Ugh!"  cried  he.  "Do  not  strike,  I  one 
good  Indian.  I  love  my  white  brothers." 

"You  coward!  You  did  not  love  your  white  broth- 
ers at  the  Caloosahatchie,"  cried  the  soldier.  "Here 
is  what  you  deserve." 

And  raising  his  rifle,  he  shot  him  through  the  brain. 

In  the  camp  of  this  last  remnant  of  the  Seminole 
Confederacy  was  found  two  thousand  dollars'  worth 


GENERAL  WILLIAM  S.  HARNEY   227 

of  stolen  goods  and  thirteen  revolvers  belonging  to  the 
massacred  dragoons  of  Colonel  Harney.  All  but  one 
of  the  captured  warriors  were  hanged;  the  one  was 
reserved  as  a  guide.  It  was  practically  the  end  of  the 
Seminole  War. 

So  much  for  the  Everglades.  You  can  rest  assured 
that  General  Harney  was  glad  to  get  away  from  these 
swampy  bottoms  and,  when  Washington  ordered 
him  to  the  plains  again,  he  was  only  too  ready  to  go. 
After  serving  upon  the  Texan  frontier  he  was  moved 
to  Wyoming  where,  in  very  few  months,  there  were 
serious  difficulties  with  the  red  men,  and  all  about  a 
poor,  old  cow.  Who  would  think  that  a  cow  could 
raise  an  Indian  war? 

A  party  of  emigrants  from  Kansas  to  California 
passed  the  Big  Platte  River,  about  thirty  miles  below 
Fort  Laramie,  leaving  a  cow  behind  them.  It  had 
given  out  on  the  march  and  was  turned  over  to  the 
Bois  Brules,  who  apportioned  it  to  a  certain  chieftain 
of  the  tribe. 

Food  was  scarce  about  this  time,  and  when  an 
Ogallala  chieftain  came  to  visit  the  Bois  Brules,  a 
head  man  of  the  village  stepped  out  and  said, 

"We  glad  to  see  you,  Chief.  But  we  cannot  have 
a  feast.  Our  rations  from  the  great  white  father 
are  only  sufficient  to  feed  ourselves.  Ugh!  Ugh! 
We  no  kill  even  black  dog." 

"  I  have  seen  a  white  buffalo  [cow]  upon  the  prairie," 
said  the  Ogallala  chief.  "I  and  my  warriors  will  go 
out  on  a  hunt." 

So  saying,  he  rode  off  upon  his  war  pony.      When 


228  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

the  party  returned,  it  was  with  the  carcass  of  the 
white  buffalo. 

No  sooner  had  the  poor  old  cow  disappeared 
down  the  throats  of  the  hungry  men  of  the  plains 
than  the  owner  sent  a  bill  for  it  into  Fort  Laramie. 
The  officer  in  command  paid  him.  Then  a  force  of 
thirty  men  was  sent  to  the  Ogallalas,  demanding  the 
person  of  the  red  man  who  had  cut  down  the  cow. 
Unfortunately,  the  soldiers  had  been  drinking  John 
Barleycorn,  and  when  they  arrived  at  the  village  their 
demand  for  the  cattle  thief  was  couched  in  pretty 
rough  language. 

A  chief  named  Black  Beaver  met  the  officers  of  the 
United  States  Government  with  great  dignity. 

"The  Ogallala  chief  who  killed  the  white  buffalo 
is  in  the  village  of  Bois  Brules,"  said  he.  "They  can- 
not give  him  up  to  his  enemies.  But  he  has  behaved 
badly.  You  can  take  him.  That  is  his  lodge!" 

The  lieutenant  in  charge  of  the  troops  showed  some 
anger.  "You  must  bring  him  here,"  said  he. 

Black  Beaver's  eyes  shone  with  a  beady  lustre. 

"The  Indian  does  not  give  up  the  friend  who  is 
in  his  lodge,"  said  he.  "Black  Beaver's  friends  would 
kill  him  if  he  did  so." 

"I'll  give  you  five  minutes,"  cried  the  lieutenant. 
"  And  then  —  if  the  culprit  is  not  delivered  —  I  will 
give  the  order  to  my  men  to  fire." 

The  five  minutes  passed  and  the  red  man  did  not 
stir. 

"Fire!"  shouted  the  lieutenant,  whose  indiscretion 
was  helped  on  by  bad  whiskey. 


GENERAL  WILLIAM  S.  HARNEY   229 

The  shots  from  the  rifles  of  the  soldiers  rang  out, 
and  Black  Beaver  pitched  headlong  upon  his  face. 
The  Indians  scattered,  but  in  a  few  moments  they 
opened  upon  the  whites  from  behind  tepees  and  lodge 
poles.  All  the  whites  were  killed  but  one  man,  who 
was  taken  into  a  warrior's  lodge  and  nursed  back  to 
health.  Such  was  the  beginning  of  the  war  of  1854. 

The  entire  Sioux  nation  went  upon  the  war  path 
in  defense  of  the  Bois  Brules.  The  whole  frontier  was 
in  a  turmoil.  In  such  a  state  of  affairs  the  most  dis- 
tinguished Indian  fighter  hi  the  army  was,  of  course, 
called  for  by  President  Pierce,  who  said  to  him, 

"General  Harney,  you  have  done  so  much  Indian 
righting  that  I  will  give  you  no  orders.  But  I  wish 
you  to  assume  command  and  whip  the  redskins  for  us. 
Will  you  do  so?" 

"I  will,"  answered  the  old  war  horse,  and  in  an 
hour  he  had  left  for  the  frontier. 

No  sooner  had  the  Hawk-with-a-beaver's-eye  reached 
the  Indian  country,  than  a  Sioux  chieftain  called  Little 
Thunder  sent  him  a  message  by  a  runner. 

"  I  will  either  shake  hands  with  you,  or  I  will  fight," 
was  the  missive. 

General  Harney  was  marching  towards  the  Sioux 
camp  as  the  runner  approached  him. 

"Tell  Little  Thunder  that  he  has  robbed  the  mails 
and  has  killed  twenty  emigrants,"  said  he.  "I  intend 
to  march  immediately  upon  him  and  his  warriors." 

Next  morning,  while  the  bugles  blared  the  charge, 
the  soldiers  dashed  into  the  redskin  camp  and  had  a 
hand-to-hand  battle  with  the  Sioux.  Seventy-two  red 


230  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

men  were  soon  dead,  and  the  Sioux  were  driven  over  ten 
miles.  The  redskins  retreated  with  their  women  and 
children,  and  Harney  allowed  them  to  get  away,  because 
he  did  not  want  to  kill  the  latter. 

"  I  have  given  them  a  good  lesson,"  said  he.  "  Now 
let  us  see  whether  or  no  they  will  sue  for  peace." 

They  did  so.  This  decisive  victory  awed  the  Sioux 
into  submission,  and  soon  runners  came  in  requesting 
a  conference.  All  but  two  bands  of  hostiles  made  a 
treaty  with  the  government,  and  the  war  was  over. 

When  the  famous  Indian  fighter  was  ordered  to 
Oregon,  in  1858,  in  order  to  quell  disturbances  among 
the  Flat  Head  Indians,  he  made  a  wise  move  when  he 
took  along  with  him  an  eminent  Jesuit  priest  called 
Father  de  Smet.  This  man  of  God  had  been  a  mis- 
sionary among  the  tribes  along  the  Columbia  River 
and  knew  the  red  men  and  their  ways  like  a  book. 
His  influence  among  them  was  excellent. 

The  hostiles  were  invited  to  a  council,  at  which 
the  major  of  the  army  said: 

"  The  great  war-chief  General  Harney,  who  is  known 
among  all  the  redskins  for  his  success  among  them,  is 
on  his  way  here;  and,  if  you  do  not  accede  to  the  terms 
which  we  propose,  he  will  make  war  upon  you,  so  that 
you  will  be  glad  to  accept  even  harder  conditions. 
You  had  better  submit." 

"Ugh!  Ugh!"  spoke  a  chief.  "We  know  the 
Hawk-with-a-beaver's-eye.  We  fear  him.  It  shall  be 
as  you  say." 

And  when  the  fearless  Everglade  fighter  arrived, 
he  found  that  many  of  the  tribes  had  sued  for  peace, 


GENERAL  WILLIAM  S.  HARNEY   231 

and  treaties  had  been  made  with  them.  Such  is  the 
power  of  a  name. 

But  the  gallant  soldier's  life  was  to  end  in  troubled 
times.  When  the  Civil  War  broke  out  he  hastened 
to  Washington,  only  to  be  confronted  with  an  order 
depriving  him  of  his  command,  and  giving  him  leave 
of  absence  until  further  orders.  The  further  orders 
never  came,  and  the  name  of  the  great  border  fighter 
is  still  upon  the  retired  list.  This  was  his  unjust  treat- 
ment after  a  life  spent  in  hardships  for  the  government. 
His  sympathies,  too,  were  not  with  the  South. 

Not  long  afterwards  the  splendid  old  soldier  went 
to  the  Happy  Hunting  Grounds  where,  no  doubt,  he 
often  hunts  the  buffalo  with  those  with  whom  he  strug- 
gled with  rifle  and  sabre  during  his  career  upon  the 
wide  western  frontier.  As  a  writer  has  justly  written: 

"His  perfect  knowledge  of  Indian  character,  and 
his  wisdom  in  adapting  his  plan  of  action  to  the  enemy 
with  whom  he  had  to  deal,  secured  him  a  greater  degree 
of  success  than  any  officer  assigned  to  duty  on  the 
frontier.  His  one  rule  in  intercourse  with  them,  never 
broken,  was  to  keep  faith." 

An  excellent  thing  for  every  young  man  to  remember 
—  Keep  the  faith! 


WILD  BILL  HICKOK:  TRAPPER,  SCOUT 
AND  FEARLESS  GUN  FIGHTER. 

IN  the  year  preceding  the  Civil  War  in  the  United 
States,  a  man  lay  upon  the  floor  of  a  dugout 
at  Rock  Creek,  Kansas,  bleeding  from  many 
deep  and  dangerous  wounds.  Some  travellers  were 
bending  over  him  and,  as  he  openedj  his  lips  to  answer 
the  numerous  queries  of,  "How  did  you  get  into  this 
fight?"  "How  did  you  defend  yourself?"  his  words 
came  in  short,  sudden  gasps. 

"  When  six  of  the  crowd  piled  on  me  and  one  struck 
me  with  his  gun,  I  thought  my  day  had  come,  so  I  just 
got  wild  and  slashed  about  like  a  bear  with  a  death 
wound,  and  guess  that  is  how  I  came  to  get  away  \vith 
them." 

" I  just  got  wild  and  slashed  about!"  That  sentence 
struck  his  hearers  as  being  of  particular  humor.  So 
they  christened  the  half-dead  man  Wild  Bill,  and  as 
Wild  Bill  he  was  always  known  thereafter. 

But  how  did  the  fight  come  about?  This  is  interest- 
ing, for  it  was  one  of  the  most  famous  affairs  of  frontier 
history.  The  papers  were  full  of  it  at  the  time  and  the 
magazines  had  a  description  of  the  great  battle  between 
Wild  Bill  Hickok  and  the  McCandlas  gang. 

In  the  latter  part  of  the  year  1860,  the  hero  of  this 
essay,  who  was  born  in  Illinois,  left  the  employment  of 
some  fighters,  to  accept  a  position  with  the  Overland 

232 


WILD    BILL    HICKOK. 


WILD    BILL   HICKOK  233 

Stage  Company  as  watchman  and  hostler  at  Rock 
Creek  Station,  a  point  upon  the  old  River  Platte  stage 
route,  fifty  miles  west  of  Topeka,  Kansas.  The  stage 
company,  which  ran  its  coaches  between  St.  Joseph, 
Missouri,  and  Denver,  Colorado,  had  built  stables  for 
twenty-five  horses  at  this  point,  and  had  placed  two 
men  in  charge  —  Hickok  and  "Doc."  Mills,  a  small 
Irishman  who  did  the  cooking  and  assisted  in  the  care 
of  the  horses.  It  was  lonely,  but  they  liked  it. 

The  two  men  lived  in  a  small  log  hut,  having  but 
one  room,  divided  by  the  suspension  of  an  old  horse 
blanket,  back  of  which  was  the  bed.  There  was  one 
entrance  in  the  front,  and  not  a  single  window.  To 
the  right  of  this  "dugout"  were  the  stables,  built  of 
heavy  logs  and  so  well  made  that  when  the  heavy 
doors  were  locked  it  would  be  impossible  for  any  but 
a  master  cracksman,  or  professional  safe  blower,  to  get 
inside.  In  this  wild  and  silent  place  the  news  of  the 
approaching  war  between  the  North  and  South  had 
penetrated  and,  as  the  daily  coach  rolled  up  before  the 
cabin  door,  Bill  always  inquired  anxiously  for  papers 
and  information  of  the  coming  insurrection.  Person- 
ally he  favored  the  Union  cause  but,  with  the  good 
sense  of  a  level-headed  man,  said  nothing  about  his 
sentiments. 

About  thirteen  miles  west  of  Rock  Creek  was  a 
ranch  called  "The  McCandlas  Outfit."  The  house  and 
stables  were  difficult  to  find  and  were  well  known  as  a 
place  to  which  many  a  stolen  horse  was  driven.  "  Those 
two  McCandlas  boys,  Jack  and  Jim,"  Doc.  Mills  used 
to  say,  "have  been  a  regular  terror  to  Central  Kansas. 


234  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

They've  killed  more  innocent  men,  an'  run  off  more 
bosses  than  any  ranchers  in  this  here  country.  There's 
about  a  dozen  'hangers  on'  in  their  outfit,  an'  when 
hoss  stealin'  gits  kinder  dull  they  turn  their  talents  to 
robbin'  stage  coaches,  or  murderin'  travellers.  Ain't 
no  one  got  nerve  enough  ter  tackle  'em?" 

"Wait  until  they  tackle  me,"  Hickok  would  answer. 
"I'll  show  'em  a  trick  or  two." 

The  McCandlas  gang  was  in  favor  of  the  Southern 
Confederacy.  Jack  McCandlas  announced  that  he  had 
been  delegated  a  special  agent  to  collect  horses  for  the 
Southern  army  and  to  enlist  recruits  for  the  service. 
But  it  has  never  yet  been  discovered  by  what  authority 
he  acted. 

An  old  man  named  Shapley  — "Parson"  Shapley  he 
was  called  —  lived  about  five  miles  from  Rock  Creek 
Station,  and  with  him  was  his  aged  wife.  He  was  a 
kind-hearted  soul,  but,  when  rebellion  threatened,  he 
showed  the  hot  blood  of  his  fighting  ancestry  and  spoke 
his  full  mind,  with  the  true  frankness  of  a  Westerner. 
The  McCandlas  gang  said  that  he  would  suffer  for  his 
free  speech  and  the  members  of  this  organization  kept 
their  word.  The  "  Parson"  had  come  out  strong  for  the 
Union. 

It  was  a  cold  day  in  December.  Wild  Bill  Hickok 
was  standing  in  front  of  his  dugout,  when  he  saw  com- 
ing down  the  road  a  party  of  four  horsemen.  The  evil 
face  of  Jim  McCandlas  was  in  front,  and  this  border 
ruffian  was  leading  the  white-haired  old  parson  by  a 
lariat  fastened  about  his  neck.  The  man  of  God  looked 
subdued,  but  angry. 


WILD   BILL  HICKOK  235 

When  the  little  party  arrived  abreast  of  the  dugout, 
Jim  McCandlas  sang  out,  in  a  tone  of  authority: 

"Look  ahere,  Bill  Hickok,  I  mean  business.  I  am 
a-gatherin'  up  horses  for  the  Secesh  service  and  I  want 
yer  to  jist  git  those  horses  in  yer  stable  ready  fer  me  when 
I  come  back  here,  which  will  be  about  three  or  four 
o'clock  this  afternoon.  This  old  hypocritical  cuss  I've 
got  here  has  been  havin'  his  say  a  little  too  free  around 
here,  and  I  concluded  to  take  him  along  with  me  to 
show  him  th'  necessity  of  keepin'  his  mouth  shet." 

"I  notice  you've  got  him,"  said  Bill,  as  he  puffed 
on  a  corn-cob  pipe. 

"  Yes,  we've  got  him,  all  right.  Now,  what  we  want 
is  you,  and  we  want  your  horses  for  the  Confederate 
service.  Have  'em  ready  for  me  when  I  come  back  in 
half  an  hour."  Hickok's  eyes  sparkled,  as  he  made 
answer. 

"When  you  want  these  horses  you  can  come  and 
take  them,"  he  cried.  "You'll  have  no  difficulty  in 
finding  me  here.  I'll  be  on  deck  from  now  on." 

Bill  withdrew  into  the  dugout,  while  McCandlas — 
with  a  smothered  oath  —  rode  down  the  trail  with  his 
men. 

Hickok  was  alone,  for  "Doc."  Mills  had  left  the 
cabin  only  a  few  moments  before  this  conversation, 
and  had  gone  off  with  a  shotgun  to  shoot  quail.  In 
the  cabin  were  several  weapons,  a  large  rifle,  two  revolv- 
ers, and  two  bowie  knives. 

"I'll  give  these  fellers  an'  interestin'  time  when 
they  return,"  said  Bill,  as  he  surveyed  the  row  of  guns 
and  knives.  Then,  placing  them  on  a  table  behind  the 


236  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

blanket  in  the  centre  of  the  dugout,  he  bolted  the  stable- 
door,  locked  it  so  it  would  have  to  be  battered  in,  and 
then  bolted  the  door  to  the  dugout. 

At  about  three  in  the  afternoon  the  McCandlas  boys 
were  seen  approaching  at  a  smart  trot,  with  eight  hench- 
men at  their  side.  They  rode  up  to  the  stables  and 
found  the  stout  doors  firmly  locked. 

"Come  out  of  your  shell,  Bill!"  cried  Jim  McCandlas, 
"and  give  up  the  horses.  If  you  don't  do  it  thar'll  be 
a  murder  at  Rock  Creek,  an'  th'  Overland  Stage  Com- 
pany will  hev  ter  hev  another  driver,  I  reckon." 

"The  first  man  who  opens  the  stable  door  will  be 
shot,  and  I'll  do  it,"  cried  Bill.  " If  there's  any  murder- 
ing done  at  Rock  Creek  there'll  be  more  than  one  body 
to  bury.  You'd  better  get  away  from  here  before  there's 
trouble." 

"Ha!  ha!"  laughed  Jim  McCandlas.  "We'll  soon 
fix  you,  Mister  Hickok." 

The  ten  desperadoes  were  really  highly  elated  at  the 
turn  which  events  had  taken,  for  they  wanted  to  get 
Wild  Bill  out  of  the  country  and  here  was  a  good  chance 
to  put  him  out  of  the  way  forever. 

"Bring  out  a  log!"  shouted  Jim  McCandlas.  "Tie 
your  horses  to  trees,  first,  and  then  we'll  batter  down 
the  door." 

It  was  one  against  ten.  Surely  the  many  would 
crush  the  lone  defender  of  the  cabin  in  the  foothills! 

The  log  was  soon  hammering  away  at  the  door,  and, 
after  a  dozen  sharp  blows,  the  hinges  broke,  — the  panels 
splintered,  crashed,  and  fell  in.  With  a  wild  yell  Jim 
McCandlas  jumped  over  the  crumbling,  wooden  frag- 


WILD   BILL   HICKOK  237 

ments,  a  large  revolver  in  one  hand,  a  bowie  knife  in 
the  other.  The  nine  others  pressed  in  from  behind. 

As  the  burly  ruffian  rushed  into  the  room,  a  shot 
rang  out  from  Hickok's  large  rifle  and  an  ounce  ball 
ploughed  into  the  heart  of  the  desperado.  The  bully 
of  the  Kansas  frontier  pitched  upon  his  face  without  a 
murmur.  Crack!  Crack!  Crack!  went  the  shots  from 
the  pistols  of  Bill,  and  at  every  shot  a  member  of  the 
gang  went  to  the  floor  —  stone  dead.  Each  bullet  had 
struck  a  vital  point. 

Six  of  the  gang  were  now  upon  the  defender  of  the 
dugout,  and  six  revolvers  spoke  as  Hickok  seized  a 
bowie  knife  and  jabbed  it  into  his  nearest  enemy.  The 
knife  did  awful  execution.  But  —  as  it  swung  back  for 
another  lunge  —  one  of  the  desperadoes  struck  Bill  over 
the  head  and  knocked  him  backward,  clean  across  the 
table.  Jack  McCandlas  was  on  him  in  an  instant  and, 
with  his  knife  uplifted,  was  aiming  a  blow  at  the  heart 
of  his  victim,  when  Bill  shoved  a  pistol  into  his  breast, 
and  fired.  The  knife  fell  upon  the  table,  McCandlas 
trembled  for  a  moment,  then,  with  the  chill  of  death 
upon  him,  dropped  dead  upon  the  floor. 

The  defender  of  the  dugout  had  been  struck  by 
several  bullets,  but  he  had  not  been  crippled.  Leap- 
ing to  his  feet,  he  slashed  right  and  left  with  his  bowie 
knife,  striking  down  two  other  desperadoes  who  attacked 
him.  The  floor  was  red  with  blood.  All  but  four  of 
the  McCandlas  gang  were  dead,  and  of  these  four  two 
were  desperately  wounded. 

"We  can't  kill  this  feller/'  cried  an  outlaw.  "I'm 
going  to  make  a  break  for  it!" 


238  FAMOUS    SCOUTS 

Suiting  the  action  to  the  words,  he  turned  and 
ran.  All  followed. 

The  two  uninjured  desperadoes  gained  their  horses, 
and,  mounting,  got  away.  One  of  the  injured  men 
ran  down  the  hillside  to  his  horse,  but  was  so  badly 
wounded  that  he  could  not  mount.  The  other  came 
quickly  after  him,  and  was  disappearing  in  a  gully 
as  "Doc."  Mills  ran  up  with  his  shotgun. 

"Quick!  Give  me  your  gun!"  shouted  Hickok 
to  him  and,  seizing  the  loaded  piece,  he  killed  the 
fleeing  member  of  the  famous  gang. 

The  wounded  desperado,  who  could  not  mount, 
managed  to  get  away  to  a  neighboring  town,  where  he 
died  soon  afterwards  of  his  terrible  injuries.  Thus, 
one  man  had  killed  seven  attackers  and  had  won  the 
most  desperate  frontier  fight  in  the  annals  of  the  border. 

But  what  of  the  valiant  Hickok? 

The  "nervy"  fighter  had  kept  his  feet  only  under 
the  excitement  of  battle;  now  —  weak  from  loss  of 
blood  —  he  collapsed  and  was  carried  into  the  dug- 
out by  his  faithful  companion,  "Doc."  Mills.  In  an 
hour  the  western  stage  rolled  up  containing  six  pas- 
sengers, one  of  whom  possessed  both  medical  knowledge 
and  a  bottle  of  brandy.  With  this  he  revived  the 
defender  of  the  lone  hut  on  the  hillside,  and  upon  ex- 
amining him  found  that  he  had  a  fracture  of  the  skull; 
three  terrible  gashes  in  the  breast;  his  left  forearm  was 
cut  through  to  the  bone;  four  bullets  were  in  his  body; 
one  was  in  his  left  hip,  and  two  through  the  fleshy  part 
of  his  right  leg.  His  right  cheek  was  wide  open,  and 
his  forehead  was  bare  of  flesh.  Such  was  the  awful 


WILD    BILL   HICKOK  239 

condition  of  the  winner  of  this  thrilling  battle.  Is  it 
any  wonder  that  it  took  him  six  months  to  get 
well?* 

The  frontier  soon  rang  with  the  name  of  Wild  Bill 
—  the  greatest  fighter  that  ever  made  a  record  —  the 
destroyer  of  the  McCandlas  gang  and  marvellous  shot. 
It  reached  General  John  C.  Fremont,  in  command  at 
Fort  Leavenworth,  and,  in  a  very  short  time  a  message 
arrived  from  this  general  offering  Wild  Bill  the  position 
of  brigade  wagon  master  in  his  army  which  was  shortly 
to  operate  against  the  Confederates.  Wild  Bill  promptly 
accepted,  and  soon  was  in  the  midst  of  the  hardest 
kind  of  warfare.  Here  is  how  he  looked  at  this  time 
of  his  career: 

In  person  he  was  about  six  feet  one  in  height, 
straight  as  the  straightest  of  the  red  warriors  of  the 
plains.  Broad  shoulders  were  his;  a  well-formed  chest 
and  limbs;  and  a  face  strikingly  handsome.  He  had 
a  sharp,  clear,  blue  eye,  which  stared  you  straight  in 
the  face  when  hi  conversation;  a  finely  shaped  nose 
inclined  to  be  aquiline;  a  well-turned  mouth  and  lips 
partly  concealed  by  a  handsome  moustache.  His 
hair  and  complexion  were  those  of  a  perfect  blonde. 
The  former  was  worn  in  uncut  ringlets  falling  carelessly 
over  his  powerfully  formed  shoulders.  Add  to  this 
figure  a  costume  blending  the  immaculate  neatness 
of  the  dandy  with  the  extravagant  style  of  the  fron- 
tiersman, and  you  have  Wild  Bill,  the  most  famous 
shot  on  the  plains. 

*From  Wild  Bill's  own  recital  of  fight  as  reported  by  James 
William  Duel. 


240  FAMOUS    SCOUTS 

Q^ 
General  George  A.  Custer,  who  lost  his  life  at  the 

battle  of  the  Little  Big  Horn,  has  said  of  him: 

"Whether  on  foot  or  on  horseback,  he  was  one 
of  the  most  perfect  types  of  physical  manhood  I  ever 
saw.  Of  his  courage  there  could  be  no  question.  His 
skill  in  the  use  of  the  rifle  and  pistol  was  unerring. 
His  deportment  was  entirely  free  from  all  bluster  or 
bravado.  He  never  spoke  of  himself  unless  requested 
to  do  so.  His  conversation  never  bordered  upon  the 
vulgar  or  blasphemous. 

"His  influence  among  the  frontiersmen  was  un- 
bounded; his  word  was  law;  and  many  are  the  personal 
quarrels  and  disturbances  which  he  has  checked  among 
his  comrades  by  the  simple  announcement  that  'this 
has  gone  far  enough,'  if  need  be,  followed  by  the  ominous 
warning  that,  if  persisted  in,  the  quarreler  'must  settle 
with  me.' 

"Wild  Bill  always  carried  two  handsome,  ivory- 
handed  revolvers  of  the  large  size.  He  was  never 
seen  without  them.  I  have  a  personal  knowledge  of 
at  least  half  a  dozen  men  whom  he  has  at  various  times 
killed,  others  have  been  severely  wounded,  —  yet  he 
always  escaped  unhurt  in  every  encounter." 

Such  was  the  appearance  of  this  typical  frontiers- 
man. His  adventures  were  many,  and  those  during 
the  Civil  War  were  most  numerous  and  exciting.  I 
will  narrate  only  a  few  of  them,  for  to  tell  them  all 
would  take  a  good-sized  volume. 

He  was  ordered  one  day  to  conduct  a  provision 
train  from  Fort  Leavenworth  to  Sedalia,  Missouri, 
and  on  the  third  day  out  suddenly  a  crowd  of  Con- 


WILD    BILL    HICKOK  241 

federates  surrounded  the  vehicles.  Like  cowards,  all 
of  the  men  under  Wild  Bill  surrendered  without  resist- 
ance. With  the  famous  gun  fighter  it  was  different. 

This  fearless  man  opened  fire,  single  handed,  and 
turned  his  horse  towards  Kansas  City  to  make  a  break 
for  freedom.  Fifty  of  the  Confederate  horsemen  fol- 
lowed and  soon  there  was  a  thrilling  race  for  liberty. 

For  several  miles  the  chase  continued,  while  the 
zip,  zip  of  leaden  bullets  whizzed  dangerously  close 
to  the  head  of  the  retreating  Wild  Bill.  Suddenly  he 
turned  in  his  saddle  and  pulled  the  trigger  of  his  pistol. 
One  of  his  pursuers  fell  from  his  horse.  Another  shot 
and  he  had  emptied  a  second  saddle.  Three  more, 
and  he  had  stretched  upon  the  sod  as  many  more  of 
the  most  ambitious  of  his  followers.  Then,  realizing 
that  this  fugitive  was  no  ordinary  "Yank,"  the  Con- 
federates wheeled  and  withdrew.  "By  George,"  said 
one,  "that  fellow  can  shoot  straighter  on  horseback 
than  any  one  that  I  ever  saw." 

When  Bill  rode  into  Kansas  City  he  found  a  con- 
siderable force  there. 

"Come,  men,"  he  shouted,  "my  provision  train 
has  just  been  captured,  but  with  your  assistance, 
I  can  soon  get  it  back  again.  To  horse!  and  we'll  show 
these  Johnny  Rebs  what  the  despised  Yanks  can  do." 

"Hurrah!"  shouted  the  soldiers.  "Lead  us  on, 
Wild  Bill,  and  we'll  soon  show  these  fellows  that  we 
can  ride  and  fight  as  well  as  they." 

Immediately  leaping  upon  their  horses,  two  com- 
panies of  cavalry  rode  out  with  Wild  Bill  and  hurried 
back  on  the  trail.  Within  fifteen  miles  of  the  place 


242  FAMOUS    SCOUTS 

where  the  Confederates  were  first  met,  they  were  again 
discovered  and,  speedily  closing  up,  the  Yankee  cavalry- 
men charged  the  enemy,  with  Wild  Bill  at  their  head. 
"I've  been  dishonored  by  the  loss  of  my  train,"  he 
had  said.  "Let  me  at  them  in  the  front  rank." 

The  fight  was  a  short  one.  Taken  by  surprise, 
the  Confederates  speedily  scattered,  leaving  the  provi- 
sion train  in  the  hands  of  the  Yankee  soldiers.  In 
triumph  Wild  Bill  conducted  the  wagons  into  Sedalia, 
and  here  he  was  greeted  with  the  loud  cheers  of  the 
Union  sympathizers.  "Bully  for  Wild  Bill,"  they 
cried.  "  He's  a  soldier  who  ought  to  command  a  cavalry 
column.  Hurrah  for  the  Wild  Man  of  the  West!" 

Shortly  after  this  affair  the  famous  battle  of  Pea 
Ridge  was  fought  (March  6th,  7th,  and  8th,  1862) 
between  the  Union  commander  Curtis  and  the  Con- 
federate chieftains  Price  and  McCullogh.  As  the 
battle  commenced,  a  captain  said  to  the  well-known 
marksman : 

"Wild  Bill,  you  are  a  fine  shot.  I  need  you  as  a 
sharpshooter.  Therefore,  place  yourself  on  that  hill 
overlooking  Cross  Timber  Hollow  and  pick  off  all  the 
Confederates  that  you  can,  for  we  must  win  this 
battle." 

"All  right,"  replied  the  frontiersman.  "Give  me 
a  chance  and  I'll  show  that  I  am  a  good  sharpshooter." 

Crawling  to  the  protection  of  a  large  log,  Wild  Bill 
soon  began  to  fire  at  the  enemy.  For  four  hours  he 
lay  hi  this  place,  shooting  repeatedly  at  the  men  in 
gray,  and  soon  the  Confederates  realized  that  they  had 
a  skilled  marksman  against  them.  By  actual  count 


WILD   BILL   HICKOK  243 

this  famous  shot  killed  thirty-five  of  the  enemy,  in- 
cluding General  McCullogh. 

"This  sharpshooter  behind  that  log  is  getting  en- 
tirely too  active,"  cried  a  Confederate  general.  "  Charge 
up  that  hill  and  dislodge  the  man!" 

The  skirmishers  in  gray  were  only  too  willing  to 
make  a  rush  for  this  fellow  with  the  accurate  aim. 
With  a  wild  cheer  they  began  to  charge  up  the  hill 
where  Wild  Bill  was  crouching  behind  the  protecting 
log.  They  fired  as  they  ran,  and  so  rapidly  that  the 
log  in  front  of  Wild  Bill  soon  looked  like  a  pepper  box. 
It  seemed  as  if  the  sharpshooter  would  easily  be  captured. 

"To  the  rescue  of  Wild  Bill,"  cried  a  Yankee  lieu- 
tenant, at  this  juncture.  "Let  us  save  our  comrade!" 

As  he  ceased,  a  hundred  men  followed  him  and, 
charging  from  the  rear  of  Wild  Bill's  position,  were 
soon  in  a  desperate  hand-to-hand  struggle  with  the 
advancing  Confederates.  The  fight  was  desperate, 
but  in  the  melee  Wild  Bill  withdrew  with  his  own 
men,  and  thus  safely  escaped  into  the  Union  lines. 

Shortly  after  this  affair,  General  Curtis  sent  for  the 
accurate  marksman,  and  said  to  him: 

"Wild  Bill,  you  are  a  good  shot  and  a  reliable  man. 
For  this  reason  I  am  going  to  send  you  into  the  Con- 
federate lines  as  a  spy.  I  want  to  know  the  intentions 
of  the  Confederate  general,  and  also  how  many  men 
he  has  with  him.  Here  is  a  fine  horse.  Use  him  and 
bring  me  the  news  which  I  wish  to  know." 

"All  right,"  replied  the  willing  frontiersman,  and 
it  was  not  many  hours  before  he  was  making  a  wide 
detour  around  the  Confederate  army. 


244  FAMOUS    SCOUTS 

Assuming  the  name  of  Bill  Barnes,  Wild  Bill  rode 
through  Kansas  and  Indian  Territory,  entered  Ark- 
ansas, and  enlisted  hi  a  Confederate  company  of 
mounted  rangers.  General  Price  had  joined  General 
Shelby  with  a  huge  force,  and  between  them  they 
hoped  to  crush  the  advancing  Unionists.  The  riders 
whom  Wild  Bill  had  joined  soon  took  up  a  position  on 
the  left  flank  of  General  Price's  troops  on  Elk  River, 
where  it  was  decided  to  make  a  stand  against  General 
Curtis,  who  was  rapidly  moving  forward.  Most  for- 
tunately for  the  spy,  he  was  appointed  orderly  to 
General  Price,  himself. 

It  was  not  long  before  the  pickets  of  both  armies 
had  begun  skirmishing  and,  separated  by  only  a  nar- 
row creek,  lay  ready  to  grapple  in  the  deadly  embrace 
of.  a  battle.  Wild  Bill  grew  anxious,  for  he  knew  that 
General  Curtis  was  expecting  to  hear  from  him.  "I 
must  reach  the  Union  lines,"  said  he,  "before  this 
battle  takes  place,  and  must  give  my  general  the  valu- 
able information  that  I  have  gathered." 

Next  morning  fortune  favored  this  desperate  and 
daring  adventurer.  General  Price  called  him  to  his 
headquarters,  giving  him  some  dispatches  to  deliver 
to  General  Shelby.  It  was  the  moment  for  which  he 
had  waited,  and  he  determined  to  ride  into  the  Union 
lines. 

In  his  own  company  was  a  large,  lean  desperado 
from  Arkansas,  called  Jake  Lawson,  who  was  very 
proud  of  boasting  of  his  own  courage  and  ability  to 
shoot  with  both  rifle  and  revolver.  Wild  Bill  deter- 
mined to  test  the  mettle  of  this  boaster,  so  he  called 


WILD   BILL   HICKOK  245 

his  men  together  and,  addressing  Lawson,  said  in 
loud  tones: 

"See  here,  Jake,  let's  have  some  fun.  These  men 
in  our  company  have  never  been  under  fire,  so  sup- 
pose you  and  I  give  them  a  little  example  of  real  pluck 
in  order  to  encourage  them  for  tomorrow's  battle." 

"Well!  Well!"  replied  Lawson.  "What  do  you 
want  to  do  now?  Do  you  want  to  have  a  fight  with 
me?" 

"Oh,  no,"  Bill  answered,  smiling,  "nothing  as  bad 
as  that.  But  I'll  test  your  courage  with  a  less  dangerous 
experiment.  I'll  wager  my  horse  against  yours  that 
I  can  ride  closer  to  the  enemy's  line  than  you,  yourself, 
can." 

Lawson  looked  at  Wild  Bill  for  a  moment,  and 
then  walked  into  his  tent,  saying: 

"Pooh!  Pooh!  That's  a  fool  proposition."  But 
a  laugh  from  the  other  members  of  the  company  brought 
him  out  again. 

"What's  the  matter  with  your  nerve?"  asked  Bill. 
"You  aren't  afraid,  are  you,  Jake?" 

"No!  I'm  not  afeerd,"  Lawson  replied,  "but 
what's  the  use  of  trying  such  nonsense?" 

"None  at  all,"  answered  the  challenger.  "If  you 
haven't  got  the  sand  to  accept  the  challenge,  why,  step 
out  and  admit  yourself  to  be  a  coward.  I  wanted  to 
see  the  real  color  of  your  character,  that's  all." 

At  this  reply,  all  of  the  rangers  began  to  laugh, 
and  several  made  the  remark  that  Jake  Lawson  was  a 
pretty  poor  sort  of  a  soldier.  This  nettled  the  rough 
fellow  and,  taking  his  horse  from  the  picket  line,  he 


246  FAMOUS    SCOUTS 

soon  rode  up  to  Wild  Bill  and  started  to  gallop  towards 
the  Union  lines. 

"Come  on!"  cried  Wild  Bill  as,  putting  spurs  to 
his  mount,  he  dashed  down  the  creek  which  lay  be- 
tween the  two  armies,  with  Lawson  beside  him. 

As  soon  as  the  Union  pickets  saw  the  two  riders 
coming  towards  their  line  they  began  to  fire.  The 
Confederate  pickets  replied  and,  as  the  two  men  gal- 
loped forward,  the  bullets  fairly  hailed  about  their 
heads.  Wild  Bill  pressed  to  the  bank  of  the  creek, 
and  then  cried  out  in  a  loud  voice, 

"Yanks!  Hold  your  fire!  I'm  Wild  Bill  trying 
to  get  into  my  own  lines  and  back  to  my  own  friends!" 

As  these  words  rang  out,  his  companion  realized 
that  he  was  riding  with  one  of  the  well-known  scouts 
of  the  West,  and  its  best  marksman  and  gun  fighter. 

"Here!"  he  cried.  "You  must  stop  and  come 
back  with  me  to  our  own  lines." 

As  he  spoke,  he  drew  his  pistol.  But  he  was  too 
late  for  the  lightning  fingers  of  the  ever-ready  Wild 
Bill.  In  a  second  this  remarkable  gun  fighter  had 
drawn  his  own  pistol,  levelled  it  at  the  head  of  the 
Confederate,  and  had  fired.  The  man  in  gray  instantly 
fell  into  the  water  and,  as  he  slipped  from  the  back  of 
his  steed,  the  reins  of  the  galloping  and  frightened 
animal  were  seized  by  the  nimble-fingered  Wild  Bill. 
Bullets  zipped  around  the  head  of  the  spy  in  furious 
volleys  but,  spurring  on  his  willing  steed,  the  des- 
perate man  pressed  on  towards  the  other  shore,  where 
he  could  hear  the  wild  cheers  of  his  own  friends.  In 
a  few  moments  he  was  scrambling  up  the  bank,  while 


WILD   BILL   HICKOK  247 

his  companions-in-arms  were  rapidly  firing  at  the 
Confederate  pickets.  His  fearless  feat  had  met  with 
perfect  success. 

The  dispatches  were  placed  hi  the  hands  of  General 
Curtis,  and  they  were  so  valuable  that  it  led  to  a  re- 
disposition  of  the  Union  force  and  retreat  of  the  Con- 
federates, without  a  battle.  Exciting  enough,  you 
say,  but  this  was  not  the  only  adventure  of  the  re- 
markable spy.  A  short  time  afterwards  he  was  again 
sent  into  the  Confederate  lines  and  had  an  experience 
that  was  far  more  thrilling  than  this  hair-breadth 
escape. 

"I  want  you  to  go  and  see  what  the  Confederates 
are  doing,"  said  General  Curtis  to  him,  not  long  after- 
wards. "Stay  as  long  as  you  like,  but  be  sure  and 
bring  me  accurate  information." 

"General,"  replied  Wild  Bill,  "I  shall  bring  you 
all  that  you  wish  for." 

That  night  he  started  south,  making  a  wide  detour 
around  the  Southern  army.  Finding  a  stray  jackass 
he  mounted  him,  and  dressing  himself  like  a  tattered 
farmer  approached  the  Confederate  forces.  With  an 
old  shotgun  over  one  shoulder,  he  ambled  along  to 
Pine  Bluff,  where  a  division  of  Van  Dorn's  army  was 
stationed.  He  trotted  among  the  troops,  then,  finding 
headquarters,  rode  up  and  presented  himself  to  a  re- 
cruiting sergeant. 

"Well,  sir,"  cried  the  Confederate,  as  he  burst  into 
laughter, ''  where  the  deuce  did  you  blow  in  from?" 

Bill  scratched  his  head.  "I've  got  a  leetle  cabin 
up  heah  in  the  Ozarks  whar  I've  been  a-livin'  with  this 


248  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

heah  jackass  an'  Billy  Bowlegs  fer  nigh  on  ter  th'  las' 
twenty  year,"  he  drawled. 

"Ah,  ha!"  said  the  sergeant.  "And  who  may 
Bowlegs  be,  my  fine  scarecrow?" 

Wild  Bill  smiled  broadly.  "Why,  look  ahere, 
Mister,"  he  answered.  "Ain't  ye  never  heard  o' 
Billy  Bowlegs,  th'  greatest  wildcat  an'  bear  killer  in 
th'  whole  uv  Arkinsaw?  Billy  Bowlegs  is  my  yaller 
dawg,  an'  th'  finest  dawg,  by  gum,  in  th'  hull  of  this 
kentry.  Ef  you'd  seen  him  tackle  a  catermount  upon 
Huckleberry  Hill  two  weeks  ergo  —  a  catermount 
bigger'n  my  jackass  —  you'd  hev  bet  th'  last  dollar 
in  yer  purse  thet  he  could  whip  anything  thet  ever 
wore  hair  or  gnawed  er  bone.  You  see,  sergint,  the 
neighborhood's  been  a-losin'  lots  o'  pigs  an'  calves  for 
a  long  time,  though  pigs  an'  calves  be  scarce  articles 
on  th'  hill,  an' 

"Well,  never  mind  that  cur  of  yours,"  the  sergeant 
growled.  "We've  no  time,  now,  to  listen  to  your 
palaver  about  yellow  curs,  even  though  yours  may  be 
the  best  scrapper  in  all  of  this  here  country.  We  want 
men  just  now,  who  can  fight  just  like  your  dog.  Do 
you  think  that  you  could  fight  like  this  here  Billy 
Bowlegs,  especially  if  we  should  set  you  on  a  drove  of 
Yankees?" 

"I  think  I  mought,"  drawled  Wild  BUI,  "specially 
ef  you'll  furnish  me  with  ammernition.  I've  got  plenty 
uv  percussion  caps  jist  now,  but  my  powder  an'  shot 
hez  run  durned  low." 

At  this  remark,  all  broke  into  loud  laughter.  But 
Bill  stood  with  his  mouth  wide  open  and  his  arms 


WILD    BILL   HICKOK  249 

hanging  carelessly  by  his  side,  as  if  he  didn't  have 
sense  enough  to  come  indoors  when  it  rained. 

"Why, — you  confounded  idiot,"  shouted  the  ser- 
geant, at  last.  "You  don't  suppose  that  our  soldiers 
fight  with  shotguns  like  that  antiquated  piece  of  yours, 
do  you?" 

Wild  Bill  opened  his  eyes  in  apparent  wonder. 
"Of  course  I  do,"  said  he.  "Ain't  shotguns  better'n 
squirrel  rifles  by  a  durned  sight?" 

"Ha!  ha!"  laughed  the  soldier.  "You're  a  poor 
sort  of  a  fellow,  but  I'll  enlist  you.  What's  your  name?" 

"Ozark  Pete." 

"All  right,  you  can  begin  to  learn  the  manual  of 
arms  and  can  try  to  be  a  soldier,  although  I  have  small 
hopes  of  ever  making  you  one." 

So  Bill  was  appointed  to  Company  I,  under  a  Cap- 
tain Leverson. 

The  Confederates  soon  moved  towards  the  army 
under  General  Curtis  and  Bill  continued  to  amuse  the 
soldiers  with  his  eccentric  remarks.  But,  unfortun- 
ately for  him,  there  was  a  corporal  in  a  nearby  com- 
pany who  began  to  suspect  the  real  character  of  the 
would-be  Confederate.  Finally  this  fellow  became 
satisfied  that  the  tattered  recruit  was  no  other  than 
Wild  Bill,  the  famous  gun  fighter  and  spy.  He  re- 
ported his  discovery  to  his  commanding  officer  and, 
when  near  the  Union  army,  Bill  was  surrounded  by 
twelve  men  who  soon  disarmed  and  bound  him.  "I 
reckon  that  I  am  caught  this  time,"  said  Wild  Bill 
to  himself,  "but  being  lucky  I  may  yet  get  out." 

Next  morning  the  captured  spy  was  tried  by  court 


250  FAMOUS    SCOUTS 

martial  and  sentenced  to  be  shot  in  a  few  days.  He 
was  seized;  his  arms  were  securely  bound,  and  he  was 
taken  to  a  small  log  hut  where  a  guard  was  stationed 
to  watch  him  closely  as  they  knew  that  he  was  a  keen 
and  cunning  man.  "I'll  get  out  of  this,  yet,"  said 
Wild  Bill  to  himself.  "See  if  I  don't.  There's  only 
one  man  watching  me  and  I'll  soon  fix  him." 

That  night  a  dreadful  rain  storm  arose  and  Bill's 
guard,  overcome  by  the  fatigue  of  the  long  day's  march, 
sat  down  and  soon  fell  into  a  doze.  It  was  the  op- 
portunity for  which  Bill  had  long  waited.  Anxiously 
he  gazed  about  for  something  with  which  to  loosen  the 
ropes  which  were  tied  about  his  hands.  At  three  in 
the  morning  he  saw,  protruding  from  the  side  of  the 
hut,  a  rough  piece  of  iron  to  which  a  lantern  had  been 
attached.  He  crept  towards  it,  and,  rubbing  the  rope 
across  the  iron,  soon  loosened  it  considerably.  With 
beating  heart  he  worked  on,  and  finally  the  cords 
snapped, — he  was  free! 

He  did  not  stop  for  a  moment.  Seizing  the  old 
piece  of  metal,  he  crept  upon  the  slumbering  guards- 
man and,  leaping  upon  him  like  a  panther,  had  soon 
knocked  him  senseless  with  one  quick  blow.  Quickly 
stripping  the  prostrate  figure  of  its  coat  and  hat,  he 
grabbed  his  musket  and  cartridge  box  and,  stealing 
out  into  the  darkness,  soon  wormed  a  way  through  the 
Confederate  pickets  to  the  army  of  General  Curtis. 
He  was  received  with  shouts  of  welcome,  while  the 
cries  of  "Long  live  Wild  Bill!"  came  to  the  ears  of  the 
furthermost  Southern  pickets,  warning  them  that  the 
keenest  scout  in  the  Yankee  army  had  again  given 


WILD   BILL   HICKOK  251 

them  the  slip.  "That  there  feller  is  leagued  with  the 
Devil,  himself,"  said  many  of  Van  Dorn's  men.  "It 
is  impossible  to  capture  and  keep  such  a  human  eel." 

Shortly  after  this  General  Curtis  again  asked  Bill 
to  enter  the  Confederate  lines,  but  the  now  famous 
scout  refused. 

"General,"  he  said,  "I've  been  there  twice  and 
many  of  the  Rebs  know  me.  I'll  scout  for  you  all 
you  want  but  I'll  never  enter  the  lines  agin.  It  means 
sure  death  for  me,  and  I  want  to  live  awhile  yet." 

General  Curtis  did  not  insist  upon  another  spying 
expedition  and  was  soon  busy  in  driving  Price  and 
Shelby  out  of  Missouri,  establishing  himself  at  Fort 
Leavenworth,  and  watching  the  swarms  of  guerillas 
who  continued  to  harass  his  wagon  trains.  He  was 
thus  engaged,  when  in  February  a  chief  called  Man- 
to-yu-kee  (Conquering  Bear),  one  of  the  subchiefs 
among  the  Sioux  Indians,  came  to  the  fort  and  said, 
"  Five  hundred  Choctaw  warriors  are  camped  ten  miles 
west  of  Lawrence,  on  the  Kaw  River.  You  must 
look  out,  or  they  will  attack  and  massacre  the  whites." 

General  Curtis,  naturally,  was  alarmed,  and  send- 
ing for  Wild  Bill,  asked, 

"What  course  of  action  would  you  advise?  You 
are  well  acquainted  with  the  Indians  and  their  ways." 

"The  Indian  is  a  mighty  uncertain  animal,"  replied 
the  scout.  "Those  who  profess  the  greatest  friend- 
ship are  frequently  the  most  deadly  enemies  to  the 
whites.  I'll  tell  you  my  own  idea.  You  send  me 
back  to  the  Sioux  camp  with  this  chief,  and,  before  I 
return,  you  can  depend  upon  it  that  I  will  know  how 


252  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

many  Choctaws  are  near  Lawrence,  and  what  they 
are  up  to.  If  I'm  not  back  here  in  four  days,  just  put 
it  down  that  I  have  dropped  my  scalp." 

"I  think  that  you  are  risking  your  life,  unless  you 
take  two  or  three  hundred  men  with  you,"  said  Curtis. 
"If  you  need  an  escort,  I  can  let  you  have  it." 

"I  don't  want  any  one,"  answered  Bill.  "I  will 
go  with  Conquering  Bear  and,  if  he  deceives  me,  then 
he  will  meet  with  trouble.  I  will  leave  tomorrow 
on  my  horse  Black  Nell." 

"I  hope  for  your  safe  return  but  I  doubt  it,"  said 
General  Curtis  as  he  turned  away. 

As  Bill  jogged  on  with  Conquering  Bear,  he  turned 
to  his  red  companion,  saying: 

"I  shall  go  with  you  directly  to  your  people.  I 
shall  expect  you  to  guide  me  to  the  hostile  camp,  but 
remember,  if  you  deceive  me  in  the  slightest  way, 
one  of  us  will  have  to  die." 

"It  shall  be  as  you  say,  pale  face,"  grunted  Con- 
quering Bear. 

On  the  following  day,  the  two  travellers  reached 
the  camp  of  the  Choctaws,  and,  passing  through  it  in 
order  to  see  another  small  camp,  they  rode  on  until 
twilight.  Just  as  it  became  fairly  dark,  Conquering 
Bear  gave  a  wild  war-whoop,  and,  as  he  concluded, 
a  large  force  of  redskins  rushed  in  upon  Wild  Bill  from 
every  side.  He  had  been  ambuscaded. 

But  luck  was  ever  with  the  famous  plainsman, 
and  it  grew  very  dark,  so  dark  that  the  red  men  ran 
into  each  other  by  mistake.  It  was  just  what  the  scout 
wished  for  and,  giving  the  Indian  whoop  and  other 


WILD    BILL   HICKOK  253 

redskin  signals,  which  he  well  knew,  he  succeeded  in 
eluding  his  pursuers  and  in  galloping  off  in  the  dark- 
ness upon  his  faithful  mare.  In  four  days'  time  he 
was  back  in  the  camp  of  General  Curtis. 

"I  want  leave  of  absence  for  a  week,"  said  he. 
"I'm  going  to  get  even  with  that  rascally  Conquering 
Bear,  or  die  in  the  attempt." 

"You  can  go/'  remarked  the  general,  smiling. 

Not  many  days  later,  Bill  reached  Lawrence,  Kan- 
sas, and  began  to  make  active  endeavors  to  get  a  per- 
sonal meeting  with  the  traitorous  Conquering  Bear. 
As  he  could  speak  the  Sioux  language  he  soon  found  a 
young  warrior  from  the  tribe  of  the  enemy,  whom  he 
treated  liberally  to  food  and  drink,  and  got  him  to  take 
a  message  to  the  chief,  which  read: 

"Meet  me  two  miles  from  the  village  and  I  will 
give  you  a  present.  I  want  to  talk  with  you. 

Musqua  —  a  Friend." 

Word  came  back  that  Conquering  Bear  would  be 
present,  and  the  vengeful  scout  was  overjoyed. 

Setting  out  for  the  meeting  place,  Wild  Bill  hid  in 
the  thicket  and,  at  the  time  appointed,  was  much  over- 
joyed to  see  the  approach  of  his  enemy.  When  the  red 
man  was  within  six  paces,  the  frontiersman  leaped 
from  his  hiding  place  and,  as  the  chief  saw  who  con- 
fronted him,  his  face  assumed  an  expression  of  abject 
fear.  He  drew  back,  as  if  to  run  away. 

"Stop!"  shouted  Wild  Bill  in  the  Sioux  language. 
"You  must  fight  me,"  and,  drawing  two  pistols  from 
his  belt,  he  threw  one  to  the  redskin. 

Conquering    Bear    had    regained    his    composure. 


254  FAMOUS    SCOUTS 

"I  no  fight  with  pistols/'  said  he.  "Give  me  the  big 
knife." 

In  a  second  the  scout  had  tossed  him  a  bowie 
knife.  "Come  on!"  he  cried,  "fight  me  in  this  circle," 
and,  leaning  down,  he  drew  a  ring  ten  feet  in  diameter, 
in  the  leaves.  The  Indian  watched  him  and  did  not 
stir. 

"Here,  you  coward!"  again  shouted  the  scout, 
"unless  you  give  me  satisfaction  for  your  trait'rous 
conduct  when  you  had  me  in  your  power,  I  will  shoot 
you  down  without  a  qualm  of  conscience!" 

This  roused  the  red  man  and,  leaping  inside  the 
imaginary  circle  with  his  knife  in  his  right  hand,  he 
made  a  savage  lunge  at  the  irate  soldier-of-fortune. 
The  'scout  dodged  the  blow  and  seized  his  opponent 
by  the  waist,  winding  his  leg  about  him  as  he  did  so. 
Each  kept  the  knife  of  the  other  from  making  a  thrust, 
and  thus  —  in  deadly  embrace  —  they  struggled  back 
and  forth  in  a  circle.  Suddenly  Wild  Bill  made  a 
savage  lunge  and  cut  the  redskin  in  the  back,  while 
the  Indian  struck  him  in  the  shoulder,  opening  a  deep 
and  dangerous  gash.  Both  struggled  desperately.  The 
red  man  was  weakening  fast  and,  realizing  that  he  must 
make  one  quick  blow  to  dispatch  his  antagonist,  he 
aimed  a  last,  despairing  thrust  at  the  frontiersman. 
It  was  skillfully  parried.  In  a  second  the  dexterous 
arm  of  the  ranger  had  driven  his  own  blade  into  the 
neck  of  the  Indian.  With  a  convulsive  twinge,  the 
redskin  fell  upon  his  face,  burying  his  tightly  clutched 
knife  in  the  ground  to  the  hilt. 

The   young   Indian   boy  immediately  ran   to  the 


WILD   BILL   HICKOK  255 

bleeding  scout  and  bandaged  his  wounds  in  order  to 
stop  the  flow  of  blood.  Supporting  the  weakened 
frontiersman,  the  youth  now  staggered  back  to  Law- 
rence, where  Bill  engaged  a  wagon  to  carry  him  to  a 
physician.  The  Indian  boy  was  now  paid  a  handsome 
sum,  and  he  was  taken  to  Kansas  City  by  the  weakened 
fighter,  who  gave  him  many  presents  before  he  finally 
sent  him  back  to  the  Sioux  reservation  on  the  Niobrara 
River.  The  daring  plainsman's  wound  was  a  bad 
one  and,  for  years  afterwards,  he  suffered  great  pain 
and  annoyance  from  it. 

The  remaining  days  of  Wild  Bill's  life  were  filled 
with  hazardous  events  and  personal  encounters  which 
the  average  person  will  scarcely  believe.  One  must 
remember  that  the  country  in  which  this  famous  shot 
resided  was  filled  with  lawless  characters  who  would 
shoot  upon  the  slightest  provocation.  A  man  had  to 
use  the  pistol  as  a  means  of  self-protection  and,  al- 
though not  of.  a  quarrelsome  disposition,  Wild  Bill 
was  in  many  serious  affairs. 

After  a  successful  duel  with  a  man  named  Tutt,' 
he  went  trapping  in  Nebraska  and,  having  reached 
the  little  town  of  Jefferson  one  day,  entered  a  restau- 
rant where  he  found  a  number  of  cowboys  who  had 
just  been  paid  off. 

"See  here,  stranger,  what  air  you  doin'  in  these 
here  diggins?"  said  a  stout  fellow  in  buckskin. 

"Yes,"  shouted  another.  "You've  got  to  treat 
all  of  us  afore  you  go  away." 

As  he  spoke,  Wild  Bill  was  in  the  act  of  drinking 
some  wine,  and  raising  the  glass  to  his  lips.  At  this 


256  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

particular  moment,  a  herder  gave  him  a  shove,  so  that 
he  fell  forward  and  the  liquid  was  splashed  over  his 
face.  Without  uttering  a  word,  the  incensed  frontiers- 
man wheeled  around  and  struck  the  fellow  a  blow 
which  sent  him  senseless  into  a  corner. 

"You've  got  to  fight,  now,"  yelled  the  herders, 
in  unison. 

Bill  was  apparently  delighted.  "All  right,"  he 
cried.  "  I'll  fight  all  four  of  you  at  either  five  or  fifteen 
paces." 

"  Come  on,"  cried  one  of  the  men.  "  The  restaurant 
keeper  will  mark  off  the  proper  distance." 

In  a  few  moments  all  were  outside,  standing  fifteen 
paces  from  each  other. 

"Are  you  ready?"  cried  the  umpire.  "One,  two, 
three.  Fire!" 

Before  the  last  word  had  died  on  his  lips,  Wild 
Bill's  revolver  had  spoken.  He  had  killed  the  man 
on  his  left.  But,  as  he  fired,  so  did  the  cowboys. 
Crack!  spoke  their  eager  guns  and  the  daring  scout 
felt  a  twinge  of  pain  in  his  right  shoulder.  His  arm 
dropped  uselessly  to  his  side. 

In  an  instant  Bill's  revolver  was  shifted  to  his 
other  hand,  and  he  dropped  the  three  remaining  cow- 
boys with  three  accurate  shots.  Two  only  were 
killed  outright.  One  was  struck  in  the  jaw  but,  in 
1878,  was  still  living  in  Kansas  City,  where  he  often 
spoke  with  awe  of  the  wonderful  shooting  ability  of 
the  lightning-fingered  Wild  Bill. 

In  spite  of  this  victory,  the  remarkable  feat  gave 
Bill  entirely  too  much  prominence  for  his  own  liking, 


WILD   BILL   HICKOK  257 

so  he  moved  further  west  and  joined  an  expedition 
of  United  States  troops  against  the  Cheyennes,  under 
Black  Kettle,  which  was  led  by  General  Ouster.*  He 
was  present  at  the  battle  of  the  Wichita,  and,  not  long 
afterwards,  was  appointed  sheriff  of  Hays  City,  one  of 
the  liveliest  and  most  lawless  towns  upon  the  frontier. 
Here  he  was  in  many  shooting  scrapes,  where  his  re- 
markable quickness  with  the  pistol  was  always  able 
to  make  him  winner  of  any  exchange  of  bullets.  And 
these  affairs  were  of  daily  occurrence. 

Directly  after  his  appointment,  he  was  called  upon 
to  put  out  of  the  way  one  of  the  most  noted  desperadoes 
on  the  border  —  Jack  Strawhan  —  who  had  shot  half 
a  dozen  men  and  who  openly  boasted  that  he  could 
"clean  out"  the  newly  appointed  marshal  of  Hays 
City.  Learning  that  Wild  Bill  was  in  town,  the  noted 
bandit  paid  a  special  visit  to  that  place,  stating  that 
he  would  soon  "  shoot  up  Mister  Wild  Bill," — a  boast 
which  reached  the  ears  of  his  intended  victim  in  a  very 
few  hours.  "I'm  ready  for  him  at  any  moment," 
said  the  famous  gunfighter. 

It  was  the  nineteenth  day  of  October,  1869.  As 
Wild  Bill,  the  town  marshal,  leaned  against  the  long 
bar  in  Tommy  Drum's  restaurant,  his  keen  eye  saw 
the  burly  form  of  Strawhan  as  he  entered  the  room 
by  a  side  door.  The  marshal  of  Hays  City  apparently 
took  no  notice  of  his  enemy  but,  out  of  the  corner  of 
his  quick  eye,  he  watched  every  movement  of  his  boast- 
ful antagonist. 

Strawhan  walked  carelessly  towards  the  bar  in  an 

*See  "Famous  Cavalry  Leaders." 


258  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

indifferent  manner.  When  within  ten  feet  of  his  rival, 
he  halted.  Bill  did  not  move,  but  that  ever  watchful 
eye  of  his  was  on  the  figure  of  the  crafty  desperado. 
A  second  more,  and  Strawhan  jerked  a  heavy  pistol 
from  his  hip  pocket  and  raised  it  in  the  direction  of 
the  marshal.  Crack!  The  town  bully  was  seen  to 
reel  and  fall  and,  as  the  startled  bystanders  gazed  at 
Wild  Bill,  they  saw  that  he  had  instantaneously  drawn 
a  small  derringer  from  his  pocket,  the  bullet  from  which 
had  entered  the  right  eye  of  the  vindictive  Strawhan. 
Without  paying  the  slightest  attention  to  the  dying 
man,  Bill  cried  out,  "Step  up,  boys,  it's  my  turn  to 
treat!  Come  on!  None  of  you  can  refuse  the  invita- 
tion of  the  marshal!"  And  no  one  did. 

But  Wild  Bill's  tenure  of  office  was  to  be  short. 
A  fight  with  some  soldiers,  shortly  afterwards,  made 
him  so  unpopular  that  he  was  forced  to  fly  from  Hays 
City  for  other  parts.  Not  many  weeks  later  he  was 
appointed  marshal  of  Abilene,  Kansas,  a  town  full  of 
gamblers,  toughs,  and  desperadoes  of  all  kinds.  His 
encounters  here  were  numerous,  but  owing  to  his 
quickness  with  the  pistol  he  came  unscratched  through 
every  trial  of  arms,  and  was  soon  respected. by  all  the 
rougher  element  of  the  place. 

America  has  had  many  marksmen,  but  there  can 
be  no  question  that  Wild  Bill  was  the  most  expert 
pistol  shot  which  that  country,  or  any  other,  ever 
produced.  He  was  gifted  by  nature  with  steady  nerves 
and  a  quick  eye,  and  his  natural  ability  to  use  the  rifle 
and  revolver  with  great  accuracy  was  improved  by 
years  of  persistent  practice. 


WILD   BILL  HICKOK  259 

Among  the  great  number  of  fancy  shots  which  this 
wonderful  scout  was  accustomed  to  make  in  order  to 
amuse  his  friends,  was  one  of  driving  the  cork  through 
the  neck  of  a  bottle,  and  knocking  the  bottom  out 
without  breaking  the  neck  itself.  This  shot  was  made 
at  a  distance  of  thirty  paces  (90  feet)  and  it  is  said 
by  contemporaries  that  he  never  missed.  In  order 
to  make  a  little  money  he  would  often  get  up  a  shooting 
match  and  then  take  bets  of  from  one  to  ten  dollars 
that  he  could  shoot  a  hole  through  a  silver  dime  at  the 
distance  of  ten  paces, —  thirty  feet.  This  was  ap- 
parently so  impossible  that  there  was  seldom  any  dif- 
ficulty in  getting  his  friends  to  make  wagers,  until  he 
proved  that  he  could  hit  the  mark  nine  times  out  of 
ten.  The  money  was  always  placed  so  that  the  sun's 
rays  would  strike  the  surface,  thus  presenting  a  bril- 
liant and  shining  target. 

A  writer  says:  "At  his  request,  one  day,  in  order 
to  prove  his  ability  at  shooting,  I  tossed  a  tomato  can 
about  fifteen  feet  into  the  ah-,  both  of  Wild  Bill's  pistols 
being  in  his  belt  when  it  left  my  hand.  He  drew  one 
of  them  and  fired  two  bullets  through  the  tin  before 
it  struck  the  ground.  Then  he  followed  it  along, 
firing  as  he  went  until  both  weapons  were  empty. 
You  have  heard  the  expression,  'quick  as  lightning/ 
Well,— that  will  describe  Wild  Bill." 

When  in  Cheyenne,  Wyoming,  after  his  tenure  of 
office  at  Abilene  had  expired,  a  rough-looking  fellow 
named  Cole  turned  up,  who  told  some  of  the  towns- 
people, "I've  come  one  thousand  miles  to  kill  Wild 
Bill.  I'll  lay  for  him,  for  he  shot  my  brother.  When 


260  FAMOUS    SCOUTS 

he  comes  to  town  we'll  see  who's  handiest  with  their 
pistols." 

Bill  was  told  of  this  remark  and  was  ready.  One 
day,  as  he  was  sitting  in  a  restaurant,  his  attention  was 
diverted  by  two  strangers  who  entered  and  walked 
heavily  about  the  place,  casting  evil  glances  at  the 
scout.  Instantly  the  ex-marshal  recognized  a  similarity 
between  the  stranger's  features  and  those  of  the  man 
whom  he  had  been  forced  to  put  out  of  the  way  at 
Abilene,  and  he  realized  that  he  was  in  danger,  for  his 
only  weapon  was  a  small,  double-barrelled  pistol  which 
had  been  presented  to  him  by  his  friend  Buffalo  Bill. 
It  held  but  a  single  cartridge. 

A  large  looking-glass  was  in  front  and,  as  Bill  gazed 
at  it,  he  could  see  the  features  of  the  two  men  and 
could  keep  himself  prepared  for  an  emergency.  By 
a  preconcerted  signal,  the  strangers  turned  and  drew 
their  pistols  at  the  same  instant,  but  Bill  was  too  quick 
for  them.  With  the  one  shot  which  his  revolver  held, 
he  killed  Cole,  and  threw  his  empty  pistol  with  such 
force  in  the  face  of  the  second  enemy  that  he  knocked 
the  fellow's  hands  up  into  the  air.  Then,  leaping 
forward,  he  threw  his  leg  around  the  tottering  man, 
tripping  him  up  and  shoving  him  backwards  with  such 
force  that  he  was  knocked  unconscious,  and  the  des- 
perate situation  had  passed.  Bill  was  arrested  but 
released  on  a  verdict  of  "self-defense." 

This  was  but  one  of  many  gun-fighting  encounters 
of  almost  monthly  occurrence.  It  is  only  natural, 
then,  that  such  a  daring,  bold,  adventurous  and  reckless 
man  should  come  to  a  tragic  end.  This  was  inevitable. 


WILD    BILL   HICKOK  261 

Attracted  by  the  finding  of  gold  in  Dakota,  Bill 
moved  to  Deadwood  in  1876,  in  order  to  prospect  for 
the  yellow  metal.  While  here,  he  whiled  away  his 
idle  moments  in  games  of  poker  and,  upon  one  oc- 
casion, won  a  great  deal  of  money  from  a  miner  called 
Jack  McCall.  On  the  day  following  this  fortunate 
affair,  the  famous  scout  was  seated  at  a  table  playing 
cards  with  three  companions,  when  McCall  entered 
the  room  and,  sneaking  behind  him,  fired  a  pistol 
close  to  his  head.  The  hero  of  a  hundred  battles  with 
the  revolver  fell  forward  —  dead  —  while  the  sneak- 
ing murderer  was  soon  captured,  tried,  and  hung.  So 
fell  the  most  celebrated  gun  fighter  of  the  wild  and 
careless  days  of  the  opening  of  the  West.  He  died  as 
all  expected  that  he  would,  by  the  shot  of  an  enemy. 

In  the  pine-clad  hills  near  the  rough  little  town, 
faithful  companions  buried  the  form  of  this  daring 
man  of  the  plains  and,  upon  a  marble  headstone, 
carved  the  following  touching  inscription: 

"Wild  Bill  (J.  B.  Hickok) 

"Killed  by  the  assassin,  Jack  McCall,  in  Deadwood, 
August  2nd,  1876.     Pard,  we  will  meet  again  in  the 
Happy  Hunting  Grounds,  to  part  no  more.     Good-bye. 
"Colorado  Charley." 

The  papers  were  filled  with  accounts  of  his  life 
and  numerous  desperate  encounters;  while  a  poem, 
written  by  the  poet  scout  —  Captain  Jack  Crawford  — 
was  freely  circulated  and  much  admired  by  the  rough 
friends  of  this  adventurous  scout,  Indian  fighter,  and 
frontiersman.  Here  it  is.  It  is  a  true  song  of  the  West: 


262  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

WILD  BILL'S  GRAVE, 

By  His  Pard;  Captain  Jack. 

On  the  side  of  the  hill  between  Whitewood  and  Dead- 
wood, 

At  the  foot  of  a  pine  stump,  there  lies  a  lone  grave, 
Environed  with  rocks,  and  with  pine  trees  and  redwood, 

Where  the  wild  roses  bloom  o'er  the  breast  of  the  brave. 

A  mantle  of  brushwood  the  greensward  encloses; 

The  green  boughs  are  waving  far  up  overhead; 
While,  under  the  sod  and  the  flow'rets,  reposes 

The  brave  and  the  dead. 

Did  I  know  him  in  life?    Yes,  as  brother  knows  brother, 
I  knew  him  and  loved  him  —  'twas  all  I  could  give, 

My  love.     But  the  fact  is,  we  loved  one  another, 
And  either  would  die  that  the  other  might  live. 

Rough  in  his  ways?    Yes,  but  kind  and  good  hearted; 

There  wasn't  a  flaw  in  the  heart  of  Wild  Bill, 
And  well  I  remember  the  day  that  he  started 

That  graveyard  on  top  of  the  hill. 

A  good  scout?    I  reckon  there  wasn't  his  equal, 

Both  Fremont  and  Custer  could  vouch  for  that  fact. 

Quick  as  chain-lightning  with  rifle  or  pistol  — 
And  Custer  said,  "Bill  never  backed!" 

He  called  me  his  "  kid"  —  Buffalo  Bill  was  his  "  boy"  — 
And,  in  fact,  he  knew  more  than  us  both : 


WILD   BILL   HICKOK  263 

And,  though  we  have  shared  both  in  sorrow  and  joy, 
He  spoke  nary  an  oath. 

And  now  let  me  show  you  the  good  that  was  in  him  — 
The  letters  he  wrote  to  his  Agnes  —  his  wife. 

Why,  a  look  or  a  smile,  one  kind  word  could  win  him. 
Hear  part  of  this  letter  —  the  last  of  his  life : 

"Agnes  Darling:  If  such  should  be  that  we  never 
meet  again,  while  firing  my  last  shot  I  will  gently 
breathe  the  name  of  my  wife  —  my  Agnes  —  and,  with 
a  kind  wish  even  for  my  enemies,  I  will  make  the  plunge 
and  try  to  swim  to  the  other  shore." 

Oh,  charity!  come  fling  your  mantle  about  him, 
Judge  him  not  harshly  —  he  sleeps  'neath  the  sod; 

Custer,  brave  Ouster!  was  lonely  without  him, 
Even  with  God. 


CAPTAIN  D.  L.  PAYNE:  THE  CIMARRON 
SCOUT 

IN  the  year  1870  a  tall,  stalwart  frontiersman 
was  walking  down  the  main  street  of  a  small 
town  in  the  territory  of  Oklahoma.  As  he 
strode  along,  a  Cheyenne  warrior,  who  was  slouching 
in  a  doorway,  turned  to  another  redskin,  saying: 

"Ugh!  You  look  out  for  him.  Him  Cimarron 
scout.  Him  Big  Thunder  with  the  shooting  stick!" 

The  other  warrior  gazed  at  the  strong  figure,  and 
scowled,  for  the  red  man  bore  no  love  to  Captain  D.  L. 
Payne,  the  Cimarron  scout.  "Ugh!"  said  he.  "We 
get  him  yet." 

Through  the  vast  stretches  of  wild  country  in  the 
southwestern  portion  of  the  then  undeveloped  West 
ran  the  river  Cimarron.  Near  by  were  the  homes  of 
the  Cheyennes,  Arapahoes,  Kiowas  and  Navaj  oes.  These 
redskins  were  jealous  of  the  advancing  hordes  of  white 
men  and  were  determined  to  stop  their  immigration  into 
the  fertile  country  of  the  Southwest.  It  was  a  wide, 
rolling,  and  vastly  fruitful  land,  and,  in  the  fierce  bat- 
tling of  the  frontier  for  the  possession  of  it,  no  man 
took  a  more  active  part  than  Captain  D.  L.  Payne, 
the  Cimarron  scout,  and  leader  of  the  advance  guard 
of  white  civilization. 

This  frontier  hero  fought  through  the  Civil  War 
with  distinction,  and  —  when  it  was  over  —  could 

264 


CAPTAIN    D.    L.    PAYNE. 


THE   CIMARRON   SCOUT          265 

not  settle  down  to  the  prosaic  life  in  the  East.  In- 
stead of  peace  and  quiet  he  wanted  excitement;  so  he 
moved  to  the  Kansas  frontier  where  there  was  plenty 
of  it,  for  the  redskins  were  continually  on  the  war- 
path and  men  had  to  be  quick  with  the  rifle,  the  revolver, 
and  the  dirk. 

In  the  spring  of  1868  this  hardy  scout  was  idly 
sauntering  about  the  streets  of  Jules  City,  when  a 
cowboy  dashed  madly  into  the  town  with  his  horse 
flecked  with  foam.  "Cimarron"  Payne  eagerly  gazed 
at  him  and  asked  him  what  was  the  matter. 

"Matter,"  answered  the  rider.  "Matter  enough! 
The  northern  Cheyennes  under  Tall  Bull  have  made  a 
raid  along  the  Republican  River.  All  the  settlers 
have  been  massacred  who  had  any  ranches  in  that 
section.  Two  women  have  been  carried  off  by  them 
into  captivity.  We  need  every  white  man  in  this 
section  to  join  us  in  punishing  th'  red  varmints." 

"I'm  with  you,"  shouted  the  frontiersman.  "Just 
wait  until  I  get  my  horse,  my  rifle,  and  my  pack.  If 
it's  going  to  be  a  long  campaign,  so  much  the  better. 
Work  is  slack  with  me  now  and  I  welcome  the  oppor- 
tunity to  have  another  brush  with  the  redskins." 

The  cowboy  rode  on  through  the  village  spreading 
the  alarm,  and  soon  every  able-bodied  man  in  the 
community  was  making  ready  to  chase  the  blood- 
thirsty Indians. 

As  luck  would  have  it  General  Ouster  was  command- 
ing a  number  of  government  troops  in  southern  Kansas 
at  this  time.  He  was  anxious  to  go  in  pursuit  of  the 
redskins.  But,  before  he  could  take  any  definite  action 


266  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

the  governor  of  Kansas  sent  for  Captain  Payne  to  ask 
his  advice  about  chasing  the  marauders. 

"Captain,"  said  the  governor,  "what  would  be  your 
advice  in  this  matter?  The  redskins  are  strong  and 
well  armed." 

"I  would  advise  the  raising  of  two  or  three  com- 
panies of  volunteers  who  should  place  themselves 
under  the  command  of  General  Custer.  These  should 
be  assisted  by  the  government  troops." 

"I  understand  that  the  Indians  are  strong." 

"Yes.  The  northern  Cheyennes  have  joined  with 
their  southern  brethren,  and  by  this  union  there  are 
fully  one  thousand  warriors  prepared  for  any  move- 
ment which  we  may  undertake." 

The  governor  looked  grave. 

"I  will  give  you  orders  to  enlist  from  one  to  two 
hundred  men,"  said  he.  "Report  to  General  Custer 
at  Fort  Hays.  You  can  go  to  Fort  Leavenworth  and 
get  the  necessary  men  and  ammunition.  I  know  that 
you  will  have  success.  Good-bye." 

The  Cimarron  scout  was  not  long  in  going  to  Leaven- 
worth.  In  two  days'  time  he  had  raised  a  volunteer 
force  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  men.  He  also  collected 
one  hundred  and  seventy-five  head  of  mules  for  the 
expedition.  The  volunteers  were  all  men  who  were 
skilled  in  the  use  of  the  rifle  and  revolver  and  they 
were  eager  to  reach  the  scene  of  conflict,  for  many  had 
lost  friends  and  relatives  in  the  recent  raid.  Payne 
was  elected  captain,  and,  taking  his  force  to  Fort 
Hays,  on  November  20th,  the  entire  command  was 
mounted  and  started  for  the  land  of  the  redskins. 


THE   CIMARRON   SCOUT          267 

Ouster's  soldiers  joined  them,  and,  with  determination 
and  vigor,  the  band  of  avengers  started  for  the  rippling 
waters  of  the  Cimarron,  along  the  banks  of  which  it 
was  reported  that  the  Indians  had  hidden  themselves. 
Governor  Crawford,  himself,  was  along,  having  resigned 
his  position  as  governor  of  Kansas  in  order  to  take 
part  in  this  campaign.  He  meant  business. 

Things  did  not  go  any  too  smoothly  with  the  mem- 
bers of  the  expedition.  Winter  was  soon  upon  them 
with  bitter  rigor.  When  the  soldiers  struck  the  lower 
ridge  of  the  Wichita  range  and  the  canon  of  the  Cimar- 
ron, the  snow  rapidly  accumulated  and  a  large  number 
of  the  horses  and  mules  died  of  exposure.  In  spite 
of  the  bitter  cold,  the  command,  which  numbered 
about  twelve  hundred  men,  continued  to  manoeuvre 
in  the  Indian  territory  until  February.  Then,  finding 
it  impossible  to  go  further  in  the  snow,  the  soldiers 
went  into  camp  at  a  frontier  fort  for  a  week.  No 
Indians  had  been  seen,  nor  had  their  tracks  been  sighted. 

"Here,  Captain  Payne,"  said  Custer  to  the  famous 
scout,  "  I  want  you  to  take  twelve  men  and  look  for 
Indian  sign.  When  you  find  it,  come  in  and  report." 

"  All  right,"  answered  the  scout,  and  in  a  few  hours 
he  had  selected  his  men  and  had  left  for  the  South- 
west. 

In  a  week  the  sun-tanned  frontiersman  rode  into 
the  fort  with  news  of  the  red  men.  "The  Cheyennes 
have  gone  towards  the  salt  plains  in  New  Mexico," 
he  reported.  "It's  a  rough  country  but  we  must  get 
after  them  before  they  have  too  good  a  start." 

The  information  created  great  excitement  in  the 


268  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

camp,  and  preparations  were  made  for  an  immediate 
move.  On  the  twelfth  of  February  the  force  started 
in  the  direction  of  the  fleeing  Cheyennes,  into  a  desert 
spot  —  one  of  the  most  dreary  wastes  in  all  the  South- 
west. Purposely  the  Indians  had  chosen  this  desert 
to  retreat  to,  hoping  to  kill  off  their  pursuers  by  nature's 
forces,  and  they  wellnigh  succeeded.  Many  horses 
died  from  thirst.  Provisions  grew  scarce.  Mules  were 
killed  and  eaten.  For  seven  days  the  pursuit  con- 
tinued over  this  barren  country. 

Finally  the  banks  of  the  Cimarron  River  were 
reached  and  grass  was  secured  for  the  half-dead  pack 
and  saddle  animals.  Prairie  chickens  and  wild  turkeys 
were  here  abundant,  and  a  general  hunt  soon  provis- 
ioned the  army  for  the  time.  The  Indian  trail  was 
fresher  than  ever. 

On  March  13th  an  advance  scout  rode  hastily  into 
camp. 

"The  Cheyennes  are  camped  ahead  of  us  on  the 
Red  River,"  said  he.  "They  are  many  and  their 
tepees  dot  the  plains." 

"Get  ready  to  attack,  men,"  ordered  General  Custer. 
"We  will  soon  teach  them  not  to  massacre  defenseless 
settlers." 

As  the  troops  prepared  themselves,  suddenly  a 
number  of  redskins  were  seen  approaching,  and,  holding 
up  their  hands,  showed  that  they  wished  to  have  a 
parley.  They  soon  came  in. 

"Ugh!  Ugh!"  said  one  —  a  head  chief.  "We  are 
ten  chiefs  of  the  Cheyennes.  We  would  treat  with 
you  without  a  fight.  I  am  Roman  Nose.  Here  are 


THE   CIMARRON   SCOUT          269 

Lone  Wolf,  Cross  Timber,  Eagle  Chief  and  Yellow 
Nose." 

"Come  to  camp  with  us,"  said  Captain  Payne, 
who  had  ridden  out  to  meet  them.  "Our  chief-with- 
the-yellow-hair  would  speak  with  you." 

So  they  walked  stolidly  into  camp. 

When  they  arrived  General  Custer  immediately 
ordered  them  to  be  seized. 

"Tell  your  waiting  tribesmen  that  if  you  do  not 
give  up  the  two  white  women  whom  you  have  with 
you,"  said  he  to  an  Indian  runner,  "I  will  kill  all  ten 
of  your  chiefs.  Begone!" 

The  Indian  soon  brought  back  a  message. 

"We  will  return  the  two  women  prisoners,"  it  ran. 
"But  they  are  not  with  us.  They  are  at  the  Little 
Robe  camp,  twelve  miles  below.  We  wish  to  drop 
down  to  this  camp  tomorrow  to  get  the  prisoners, 
and  we  will  return  on  the  day  following.  Can  we  not 
go?" 

"Do  not  let  them  go,"  was  the  advice  of  Captain 
Payne,  the  Cimarron  scout.  "They  merely  wish  to 
escape." 

"I  have  ten  of  their  chiefs,"  Custer  replied.  "As 
long  as  I  hold  them  they  will  not  kill  the  women  pris- 
oners, nor  attempt  to  get  away.  They  can  go." 

But  this  action  was  so  bitterly  opposed  by  Custer's 
men  that  there  was  nearly  a  mutiny.  Several  rode 
forward  to  watch  the  redskins,  and  saw  them  pack 
their  baggage,  squaws  and  children  on  sledges  made 
of  long  poles,  and  depart  for  the  South. 

"Better  move  after  them,"  said  Captain  Payne, 


270  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

next  day.     "They  are  shifty  critters,  these  Cheyennes." 

"  You're  right,"  Custer  replied.  "  We'll  follow  them 
and  see  what's  up."  So  he  gave  orders  for  an  im- 
mediate pursuit. 

When  Little  Robe  was  reached,  not  a  redskin  was 
in  sight. 

"What  did  I  tell  you,"  said  the  Cimarron  scout. 
"Th'  cunning  Cheyennes  have  flown  over  the  country 
like  a  brood  of  quails.  They're  gone,  and  we  ought 
to  have  fought  'em  when  we  could." 

"We  want  the  captive  chiefs  to  be  executed!" 
shouted  the  soldiers  and  frontiersmen.  "They've 
broken  their  pledge  to  deliver  over  the  women  prisoners. 
Death  to  the  Cheyenne  chiefs!" 

But  Custer  and  Captain  Payne  had  influence  enough 
to  prevent  a  massacre.  And  it  was  well,  for,  on  the 
day  following,  a  number  of  scouts  rode  hastily  into 
camp,  crying: 

"Indians  are  lurking  about  us.  They  look  like 
Cheyennes.  Seems  as  if  they're  trying  to  make  out 
what  we  have  done  with  their  chiefs." 

General  Custer's  eyes  shone  brightly,  as  he  spoke 
to  his  men.  "We'll  make  preparations  to  execute  the 
ten  Cheyennes,  at  once,"  he  shouted  with  vigor.  "Tie 
ropes  around  their  necks  and  lead  them  to  yonder  tree. 
We'll  see  what  the  rascally  redskins  will  do  when  they 
see  from  afar  that  their  chiefs  are  going  to  be  strung 
up." 

Acting  upon  his  words,  a  platform  was  soon  built 
and  placed  beneath  the  tree,  while  a  ring  of  soldiers 
surrounded  the  captive  chieftains,  each  with  a  noose 


THE   CIMARRON    SCOUT          271 

around  his  neck.  The  strategy  had  the  desired  effect, 
for,  in  a  few  moments,  five  redskins  came  galloping 
up  to  camp. 

"Ugh!  Ugh!"  they  grunted.  "Do  not  kill  our 
brothers.  We  will  give  up  the  pale-face  squaws.  We 
will  have  them  here,  quick." 

"All  right,"  replied  Custer,  "but  they  must  be  here 
in  two  and  one-half  hours.  If  they  are  not  here  then 
your  chiefs  shall  die." 

The  redskins  rode  off  at  full  speed.  "They  will 
soon  come  back,"  said  the  Cimarron  scout,  smiling. 

He  was  right,  for  soon  a  long  line  of  warriors  was 
seen  coming  down  a  defile  in  the  mountains  with  Mrs. 
Morgan  and  Miss  White  (the  two  captured  white  women) 
in  front,  each  with  a  buffalo  robe  about  her.  When  the 
red  men  came  within  a  stone's  throw  of  the  camp, 
four  painted  braves  approached  with  the  women. 
Walking  stolidly  up  to  General  Custer,  they  said: 

"How!  How!  Chief- with-the-long-hair,  here  are 
the  pale  face  women.  We  have  done  as  we  prom- 
ised." 

The  two  women  were  so  overjoyed  to  get  out  of  the 
hands  of  the  cruel  red  men  that  they  wept,  for  they 
had  been  subjected  to  the  most  cruel  indignities. 

"Now  that  we  have  returned  your  women,"  said 
the  Indians,  "  return  to  us  our  chiefs." 

"That  I  will  not  do,"  replied  Custer,  "until  all 
of  your  warriors  come  into  the  Reservation  and  leave 
the  warpath." 

The  Cheyennes  made  no  answer,  but,  sullenly  de- 
parting, soon  made  off  to  the  southward  with  their 


272  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

people.  As  they  left  they  shook  their  fists  at  the 
soldiers,  saying,  "We  will  have  revenge!" 

"They  will  join  with  Tall  Bull,"  said  a  scout,  "and 
no  doubt  attack  us  in  overwhelming  numbers.  We 
must  be  prepared." 

General  Ouster,  himself,  seemed  to  know  the  danger, 
and,  calling  Captain  Payne  to  him,  said: 

"Captain,  we  have  got  to  send  word  to  Fort 
Hays  at  once.  Some  one  must  act  as  courier  to  notify 
our  friends  of  our  position.  Some  one  must  tell  the 
home  troops  that  we  have  taken  the  two  women." 

"You  are  right,"  replied  the  Cimarron  scout.  "The 
sooner  a  messenger  is  dispatched,  the  better." 

"Well,  then,"  said  the  general,  "you  are  the 
very  man  to  take  the  trip.  You  are  thoroughly  ac- 
quainted with  the  country  and  I  feel  safe  in  entrusting 
this  important  message  to  you." 

"All  right,"  cheerfully  replied  Captain  Payne. 
"I  weigh  two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds,  but  I  think 
that  I  can  get  through  the  encircling  lines  of  red- 
skins." 

"You  can  take  your  pick  of  men  and  horses,  and 
start  at  once,"  advised  Custer.  "I  think  that  you 
will  require  about  fifty  men.  With  such  a  number 
I  have  no  fear  of  your  getting  through." 

Payne  scratched  his  head.  "The  fewer  men  I 
have  with  me,  the  better,"  said  he.  "Fifty  of  the 
best  soldiers  in  the  expedition  couldn't  make  any 
headway  at  fighting  the  hordes  of  Indians  on  the  war- 
path between  here  and  Fort  Hays.  The  men  would 
only  make  the  trip  more  difficult." 


THE    CIMARRON    SCOUT          273 

"Well,  you  shall  have  your  own  way,"  laughingly 
replied  the  general.  "  What  men  will  you  take?" 

Captain  Payne's  mind  was  already  made  up.  "I'll 
take  Jack  Cowan  and  Charley  Picard,"  said  he.  "And 
my  purpose  is  to  leave  this  camp  in  about  fifteen  minutes. 
Good-bye!"  In  fifteen  minutes  the  Cimarron  scout 
and  two  companions  had  started  across  the  wide  sweep 
of  sage-covered  prairie.  In  eighteen  hours  they  had 
marched  one  hundred  and  thirty  miles  and  reached 
Camp  Supply.  But  there  were  few  soldiers  here,  so 
the  three  couriers  had  to  push  on  to  Fort  Dodge. 

Each  riding  a  mule,  and  driving  a  pack  animal 
before  him,  (which  was  laden  with  over  a  thousand 
rounds  of  ammunition,  as  a  precaution  in  case  of  a 
siege),  the  three  daring  couriers  were  soon  on  their 
way.  Shortly  after  dark,  as  they  were  clambering  up 
the  hills  of  western  Kansas,  suddenly  they  found 
themselves  almost  upon  the  camp  of  over  a  hundred 
Kiowa  braves  —  noted  for  their  hostility  to  the  white 
men. 

"Let's  ride  through  the  camp  on  a  run,"  said  Jack 
Cowan.  "We  will  see  some  fun,  boys!" 

"No,"  said  the  Cimarron  scout.  "We've  got  to 
go  easy  and  carry  our  message  through  to  Fort  Dodge. 
I'd  take  a  chance  with  you  if  our  business  wasn't 
most  important.  We'll  back  off  and  go  around  the 
camp." 

So  they  got  safely  by.  But  next  day,  as  they 
were  passing  through  some  hills,  Captain  Payne  made 
an  exclamation  of  astonishment. 

"Followed,  by  gracious,"  said  he.    "There's  one 


274  FAMOUS    SCOUTS 

hundred  and  fifty  redskins  coming  through  the  hills 
on  our  trail." 

"Let  me  look  at  'em  through  the  glasses/7  said 
Scout  Cowan.  Then,  as  he  gazed  intently,  he  ex- 
claimed, "  Their  faces  are  all  painted  up  with  war  paint. 
They  mean  business,  sure." 

"Ride  to  yonder  ravine,"  cautioned  the  Cimarron 
scout.  "We  can  find  good  protection  behind  the 
rocks.  The  redskins  have  only  got  bows  and  arrows. 
We  can  hold  'em  off  in  spite  of  their  numbers." 

Quickly  hiding  themselves  among  the  rocks,  the 
three  scouts  awaited  developments.  The  redskins 
came  after  them  at  a  good  pace,  and  Cowan,  unable 
to  restrain  his  impulsive  nature,  drew  his  rifle  to  his 
shoulder  to  shoot  at  the  leader.  The  bullet  missed 
the  warrior,  but  struck  his  horse  in  the  head.  The 
pony  tumbled  over  and  rolled  down  so  near  the  three 
scouts  that  their  mules  became  frightened  and  tried 
to  get  away. 

Crack!  Crack!  went  the  rifles  of  the  other  two 
scouts,  while  the  redskins  circled  about  them  yelping 
like  coyotes  and  harmlessly  firing  their  long  arrows. 
The  fight  continued  for  nearly  two  hours,  and,  because 
of  the  accurate  aim  of  the  scouts,  several  of  the  red 
men  were  shot  and  killed.  The  Indians  were  too  cow- 
ardly to  charge  the  little  party. 

As  the  scouts  fired  at  leisure,  the  redskins  galloped 
up  on  the  off  side  of  their  horses,  and,  seizing  their 
dead  comrades  by  the  heels,  rode  off  with  them.  Hav- 
ing at  last  secured  and  taken  away  their  slain,  the 
Kiowas  divided,  a  body  of  about  fifty  crossing  the 


THE   CIMARRON    SCOUT          275 

ravine  in  order  to  make  an  assault  from  the  other  side. 

"To  the  other  bank,  boys,"  cried  Payne,  "and 
make  every  shot  count." 

Crack!  Crack!  went  the  rifles.  Three  redskins 
and  two  ponies  went  down,  and  the  Kiowas  —  seeing 
that  they  were  getting  the  worst  of  it  —  withdrew 
for  a  council. 

In  a  half  an  hour  Payne  cried  out,  "Get  ready, 
boys,  here  they  come!"  for  he  saw  them  approaching. 

The  Kiowas  came  up  on  the  dead  run  in  two  parties, 
each  letting  loose  a  shower  of  arrows.  One  hit  Captain 
Payne  in  the  right  shoulder,  cutting  a  deep  gash,  but 
fortunately  missed  the  bone.  "Fire  away!"  cried 
he.  "I'm  only  scratched!" 

Two  red  men  went  down,  and  one  pony,  also.  "Hi! 
Hi!"  yelled  Jack  Cowan,  jumping  upon  a  rock.  Pulling 
out  a  bottle  of  wine,  he  raised  it  to  his  lips,  making  a 
mock  toast  at  the  redskins. 

Seeing  this  act  of  bravado,  several  red  warriors 
cried  out, 

"Ugh!    It  is  California  Joe.    No  good  to  fight." 

In  fact  they  withdrew.  For  such  a  holy  horror  did 
they  have  of  this  celebrated  plainsman,  that  they  feared 
to  come  on.  Soon  the  last  feathered  top  of  a  redskin's 
head  was  seen  disappearing  across  the  vast  plains. 
The  scouts  had  won  the  battle. 

Breathing  easier  the  three  bold  plainsmen  pushed 
onward,  camping  for  the  night  on  a  hilltop,  so  that  they 
could  not  be  easily  surprised.  As  dawn  came  stealing 
across  the  hills,  the  cry  of  a  coyote  sounded  from  the 
tall  sagobrush. 


276  FAMOUS    SCOUTS 

"Indians,"  whispered  Jack  Cowan  to  the  Cimarron 
scout. 

"Yes,  Cheyennes,"  answered  Captain  Payne.  "I 
know  their  music.  We  must  be  on  our  guard  and  move 
with  the  greatest  care." 

So,  cautiously  keeping  behind  a  chain  of  hills,  the 
scouts  began  their  journey.  They  had  gone  forward 
for  about  an  hour  when  a  wild  yell  sounded  on  the  left, 
and  three  redskins  galloped  by,  firing  at  them  with 
stolen  rifles  as  they  passed. 

"This  looks  serious,"  said  Payne.  "Rifles  are 
more  dangerous  than  bows  and  arrows.  We  must  be 
in  for  a  stiff  fight." 

No  sooner  had  he  spoken  than  twenty  Cheyennes 
appeared  in  their  front,  all  hiding  on  the  off  side  of 
their  ponies  and  yelping  like  timber  wolves. 

Crash!  sounded  a  volley  from  the  three  scouts  and 
a  redskin  dropped  to  the  sod. 

"We  can't  stop,"  cried  the  Cimarron  scout. 
"Wright's  corral  is  just  ahead  of  us.  We  must  keep 
on  moving." 

Again  the  Cheyennes  came  on,  and  again  sounded 
that  accurate  volley  from  the  three  scouts. 

Thus  a  running  fight  was  kept  up  for  several  miles. 
One  of  the  pack  mules  was  struck,  but  fortunately 
was  not  disabled,  and,  by  careful  shooting,  the  red 
men  were  kept  at  a  respectful  distance.  Finally, 
Wright's  corral  was  seen,  and,  dashing  quickly  across 
the  open  prairie,  the  frontiersmen  were  soon  under 
the  shelter  of  the  houses  there,  where  twelve  men  were 
busily  engaged  in  firing  at  the  advancing  Cheyennes. 


THE   CIMARRON   SCOUT          277 

"We've  got  to  charge  the  devils,"  cried  Captain 
Payne.  "One  good  ride  into  them  and  we'll  scatter 
the  whole  outfit.  Get  ready,  boys,  for  a  sortie." 

The  twelve  men  at  the  corral  were  not  eager  for 
this  kind  of  fighting. 

"Come  on,"  shouted  Payne,  starting  for  the  red- 
skins. "Will  you  all  hang  back  like  cowards?" 

So  saying,  he  rode  out  after  the  Indians,  and,  seeing 
him  alone,  all  present  dashed  after  him.  A  few  volleys 
scattered  the  Cheyennes.  They  were  chased  for  a 
mile  over  the  plains,  and  then  the  men  came  back, 
laughing.  "Pretty  bold  Indians,  I  guess  not,"  said 
Cowan.  "Reckon  they'll  run  till  sundown." 

Next  morning  the  three  scouts  were  again  on  the 
trail.  On  the  fourth  day  out  from  the  corral  they 
reached  Fort  Hays,  but  the  Cimarron  scout  had  to 
;-ub  tobacco  in  his  eyes  in  order  to  keep  them  open  and 
avoid  falling  asleep  on  the  way.  He  had  travelled 
three  hundred  and  sixty-five  miles  in  one  hundred 
hours,  and  had  had  two  stout  skirmishes  with  the  red- 
skins. It  was  one  of  the  swiftest  rides,  considering 
the  obstacles  encountered,  ever  made  on  the  plains. 

"Custer  is  afraid  that  he  will  be  surrounded  and 
annihilated,"  said  the  Cimarron  scout  to  the  commander 
of  Fort  Hays.  "I  want  a  relief  party,  at  once." 

"You  shall  have  it,"  answered  the  soldier  in  charge 
of  the  fort.  "  Two  hundred  troopers  shall  go  out  with 
you  tomorrow  morning." 

And  they  did. 

Rapidly  pushing  over  the  alkali  plain,  Custer 
and  his  men  were  soon  sighted.  All  were  in  splendid 


278  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

health  and  spirits,  for  they  had  been  left  alone  — 
the  Cheyennes  had  not  returned  to  the  attack.  The 
ten  captured  chiefs  were  brought  in  to  the  fort  and 
were  placed  in  a  stockade  with  sixty-five  Indian  women 
and  children.  The  two  white  women  were  returned 
to  their  relatives,  and  thus  the  famous  expedition  ended 
in  triumph  and  success.  Captain  Payne  was  the  hero 
of  the  occasion,  and  many  and  often  were  the  healths 
that  were  drunk  to  the  famous  Cimarron  scout,  the 
intrepid  rider  of  the  Kansas  plains. 

The  great  scout  lived  to  be  an  old  man,  and  had 
many  another  brush  with  the  red  rovers  of  the  frontier 
before  his  death;  but  the  story  of  his  splendid  ride 
will  always  live  in  the  annals  of  the  country  as  one  of 
the  most  daring  feats  among  the  many  hazardous 
adventures  on  the  wide,  sun-baked  plains  of  the  arid 
Southwest.  Long  may  the  fame  survive  of  the  bold 
and  resolute  Cimarron  scout!! 


WHITE    BEAVER   (DR.    D.    F.    POWELL.) 


WHITE    BEAVER    (DR.    D.    F.    POWELL) 

CHIEF  MEDICINE  MAN  OF  THE 

WINNEBAGO-SIOUX 

IT  was  at  Whiskey  Gap  on  the  Sweetwater  River. 
The  crystal  fluid  of  this  musical  stream  was  brown 
arid  yellowish  at  this  point,  and  an  old  cow-puncher 
had  looked  at  it  once  and  said,  "  Looks  like  reg'lar 
tarantular  juice.  So's  we  must  call  this  heah  place 
Whiskey  Gap.  It's  as  good  a  name  as  any,  I  reckon. 
Leastways  it  sounds  good  to  me."  By  that  euphonious 
name  it  was  always  known,  and,  if  you  go  there  today, 
you  will  find  that  any  stage-driver  can  show  you  the 
spot  where  the  dun-colored  ridges  part  to  allow  the 
rushing  stream  to  crash  on  its  mad  course  towards  the 
lowlands.  But  you  will  not  hear  the  wild  yelp  of  the 
Arapahoes  which  rang  from  the  crags  and  boulders  that 
day  in  1868,  for  on  May  16th  of  that  year  there  was  a 
rattling  little  skirmish  at  Whiskey  Gap.  Here  is  what 
occurred : 

Ten  white  men  were  prospecting  and  hunting  in 
this  country  at  that  time,  among  them  being  the  famous 
Shoshone  scout  called  Jonathan  Pugh,  and  Frank 
Powell,  or  White  Beaver,  one  of  the  most  adventurous 
men  of  the  plains.  They  were  lying  about  upon  the 
sweet-smelling  grasses  of  the  gap,  when  a  wild  yell 
warned  them  that  the  redskins  were  near.  Crack! 
sounded  a  rifle,  and  in  an  instant  all  was  excitement. 

279 


280  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

"To  the  buffalo  wallow!"  shouted  Powell.  "The 
banks  make  a  splendid  defensive  position  and  the  red- 
skins can't  touch  us  there.  Drive  the  horses  in  first 
and  then  lie  down." 

"There  are  a  hundred  redskins  or  else  I'm  no  guess," 
cried  Ted  Walcott  of  Arizona.  "  See  'em  circlin'  around 
in  th'  tall  grass  like  vultures.  They  won't  get  any 
prey  this  time,  howsomever." 

"There  goes  our  first  horse,"  cried  Powell.  "Some 
of  th'  redskins  have  got  pistols  and  rifles  which  they've 
stolen  from  some  luckless  devils  that  have  fallen  into 
their  clutches.  We're  in  for  a  long-drawn-out  fight,  sure. 
But,  by  the  Great  Jehovah,  we  will  lick  'em." 

The  little  party  had  now  run  to  the  old  buffalo 
wallow;  had  lain  down  behind  the  protecting  bank,  and 
all  were  firing,  with  careful  aim,  at  the  yelping  and 
screeching  red  men,  who  rode  their  horses  around  the 
band  of  white  hunters  in  a  wide  circle.  One  by  one 
the  horses  of  the  white  men  were  shot  down,  and,  as 
each  one  fell,  his  body  was  placed  upon  the  edge  of  the 
wallow  as  a  barricade.  Behind  this  the  whites  took 
shelter  and  did  not  waste  their  cartridges  in  useless 
firing.  Every  time  a  shot  rang  out  from  the  barricade, 
a  redskin  either  fell  or  heard  the  zip  of  a  bullet  but  a 
hair's  breadth  from  his  body.  The  scouts  were,  by 
long  practice,  accurate  marksmen. 

So  the  battle  waged  for  an  entire  day.  The  Arapa- 
hoes  did  not  have  courage  enough  to  charge  the  barri- 
cade, but  rode  round  about  it,  yelling,  firing  with  no 
good  aim,  and  occasionally  wounding  a  white  frontiers- 
man with  a  spent  bullet.  That  night  they  drew  off  out 
of  range. 


WHITE   BEAVER  281 

"They  haven't  left  us  alone,"  said  White  Beaver. 
"They're  just  waiting  around,  out  of  gunshot,  hoping 
that  some  of  us  will  have  to  go  for  water  so's  they  can 
get  a  pat  shot  at  him.  Th'  river  is  a  mile  away,  as  I 
calculate  it,  and  if  we  can't  get  water  by  digging  we'll 
have  to  make  a  break  for  it." 

Sure  enough,  when  morning  dawned,  there  were 
redskins  on  the  surrounding  hills,  looking  like  a  lot  of 
vultures  sitting  around  the  carcass  of  a  dead  horse. 
They  sat  there  all  day,  sometimes  chanting  a  weird 
death  song  for  they  felt  sure  of  their  victims.  Every 
hillock  held  an  enemy  to  the  whites. 

"This  looks  bad,"  said  McCabe,  "seems  as  if  they've 
got  us." 

The  others  kept  silent  and  stolidly  watched  the  red 
men,  firing  whenever  a  topknot  and  painted  face  showed 
itself. 

"How!  Yow!"  yelped  a  redskin  who  knew  a  little 
English.  "You  no  see  squaw  again.  You  all  make 
prayer  to  Great  Father.  He  see  you  soon.  Arapahoe 
get  much  scalp.  How!  Yow!" 

For  three  days  this  situation  lasted.  Of  food  there 
was  abundance,  but  every  drop  of  water  had  been  ex- 
hausted on  the  first  day  chiefly  in  bathing  wounds.  The 
scouts  were  almost  crazed  with  thirst.  The  red  men 
grinned  at  each  other,  for  they  saw  the  end. 

On  the  morning  of  the  third  day  White  Beaver 
jumped  up  and  said,  with  spirit: 

"I  will  decide  this  battle;  better  die  at  once  than 
linger  from  parching  thirst  in  the  terrible  stench  of  these 
dead  horses." 


282  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

"Well,  what  will  you  do?"  asked  the  Shoshone  scout. 

"  Do?  Why,  charge  the  red  devils  and  trust  to  luck. 
Let  him  who  wishes  to  follow  me,  come  on!  As  for  me, 
I  intend  to  leap  out  among  the  redskins  and  make  a 
dash  for  the  river." 

Scarcely  had  he  finished  speaking  than  with  one 
bound  he  had  leaped  the  breastworks  and  made  a 
break  for  the  river. 

All  looked  on,  astonished  at  his  reckless  courage, 
as  —  with  ear-splitting  yells  —  the  Indians  dashed  to- 
ward him.  Down  they  rushed,  like  timber  wolves 
closing  in  upon  a  wounded  caribou,  each  warrior  anxious 
to  be  the  first  to  get  the  white  man's  scalp. 

White  Beaver  kept  on.  When  scarcely  fifty  yards 
separated  him  from  the  screeching  Arapahoes,  he  raised 
his  gun,  fired,  and  the  leading  red  man  dropped  from 
the  back  of  his  pony.  Crash!  Crash!  sounded  the  guns 
of  the  hunters  still  in  the  barricade.  "  Come  on,  boys," 
shouted  one  of  them,  "don't  let  Frank  Powell  fight 
it  out  alone!"  and,  scrambling  over  the  dead  horses, 
the  scouts  rushed  after  the  fleeing  frontiersman. 

For  a  few  moments  there  was  a  fierce  battle.  Red- 
skins dropped  from  their  saddles  by  scores,  but  in  spite 
of  their  determined  stand,  the  scouts  broke  through 
their  ranks  and  reached  White  Beaver,  who,  crouching 
behind  a  clump  of  sagebrush,  was  firing  slowly  and 
deliberately  at  the  yelping  redskins.  Crack!  went  his 
rifle,  and  "Walking  Crane,"  one  of  the  most  renowned 
braves  among  the  Arapahoes,  fell  to  the  ground. 

"Ah,  ha,"  cried  the  scout.  "No  more  scalps  will 
line  your  wigwam.  This  settles  you." 


WHITE   BEAVER  283 

Quickly  joining  him,  the  scouts  threw  up  a  breast- 
work near  the  Sweetwater  in  less  time  than  it  takes  to 
tell  it.  Water  was  quickly  secured  and  poured  into  tin 
cans.  Refreshed  by  this,  their  rifle  fire  grew  more 
accurate,  so  that  the  red  men,  realizing  that  they  could 
not  cope  with  the  whites,  withdrew.  Their  death  chant 
sounded  up  the  valley  as  they  carried  off  their  dead. 

The  reckless  daring  and  decisive  judgment  dis- 
played by  Frank  Powell  in  this  stiff  little  fight,  gained  for 
him  a  great  reputation  among  all  of  the  scouts  and 
Indian  fighters  of  the  great  plains,  and  the  name  of 
White  Beaver  was  soon  on  every  man's  tongue  in  the 
Northwest.  "Look  out  for  White  Beaver,"  they  would 
tell  the  redskins  when  they  got  ugly.  "  He  will  be  after 
you  with  his  scouts  and  you  know  how  he  can  shoot." 
Not  long  after  the  brush  at  Whiskey  Gap,  White 
Beaver  with  four  sunburned  rangers  was  hunting  near 
the  Stinking  Water  River  in  Wyoming. 

"We  must  look  out  for  the  redskins,"  he  had  warned 
his  companions.  "The  Blackfeet  are  on  the  warpath. 
They  are  crafty  and  are  good  shots.  We  must  always 
be  upon  our  guard." 

The  vast,  pine-clad  mountains  stretched  away  on 
every  side  as  the  few  trappers  drove  their  pack  animals 
up  an  old  elk  trail.  A  little  crystal  brook  gurgled  along 
near  the  path,  and,  in  the  sandy  pits  on  either  side, 
could  be  seen  the  tracks  of  the  grizzly  bears  which  came 
there  to  drink  and  to  wait  for  a  spring  upon  an  unsus- 
pecting elk  calf.  Brown  sage  hens  fluttered  before 
them  on  several  occasions,  craning  their  necks  and 
gazing  at  the  strange  men  with  foolish  eyes,  while  in 


284  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

the  hemlocks  red  chipmunks  chattered  and  scolded  at 
the  cavalcade. 

Suddenly  White  Beaver  reined  in  his  horse. 

"Listen!"  said  he. 

The  low  hoot  of  an  owl  sounded  from  the  dense 
woods  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  canon. 

"Look  out,"  whispered  White  Beaver.  "There's 
trouble  ahead." 

The  scream  of  a  mountain  lion  echoed  from  the  same 
hill  upon  which  they  were  resting. 

"Don't  sound  natural  to  me,"  said  one  of  the  scouts, 
a  man  named  French.     "It's  too  high." 

"Get  behind  trees,"  cried  White  Beaver.  "There's 
trouble  in  the  wind." 

As  he  spoke,  the  sharp  crack  of  a  rifle  sounded  forth, 
and  a  wild  yell  welled  from  the  forest. 

"We're  attacked,"  said  French.  "Better  dig  a  forti- 
fication." But  White  Beaver  was  busily  scanning  the 
hillside  with  his  glass. 

"  There's  about  twenty  Blackfeet,"  he  cried,  with  cool 
decision.  "Come  on,  boy.  We'll  charge  the  vermin, 
and,  if  I  know  the  redskins  aright,  they'll  scatter." 

Taking  the  bridle  reins  in  his  teeth,  with  a  revolver 
in  each  hand  and  a  rifle  caught  fast  in  the  saddle-seat 
before  him,  White  Beaver  spurred  his  horse  and  started 
for  the  redskins,  who  could  now  be  seen  collected  on  the 
trail  and  aiming  at  the  frontiersmen. 

"Hurrah  for  White  Beaver,"  shouted  his  com- 
panions. " Let  us  follow  where  he  leads!" 

Fierce  as  wounded  panthers,  and  shooting  with 
rattling  rapidity,  the  five  men  rode  into  the  Blackfeet 


WHITE   BEAVER  285 

before  they  had  time  to  know  what  their  enemy  was 
doing.  Seven  redskins  went  down  before  the  accurate 
fire  of  the  scouts.  Many  more  were  wounded. 

"Ugh!  These  men  are  devils,"  cried  the  Indians. 
"They  shoot  like  Katauno,  the  Great  Warrior.  We 
must  get  away." 

Had  not  the  redskins  cut  away  into  the  sheltering 
timber,  every  one  would  have  been  annihilated.  White 
Beaver's  courage  had  been  too  much  for  them. 

This  spirited  encounter  but  increased  the  reputation 
of  the  great  scout.  He  was  doubly  popular  on  the  frontier 
and  all  praised  the  daring  of  the  courageous  warrior. 
But,  how  came  he  to  be  named  White  Beaver? 

A  Sioux  warrior  named  Rocky  Bear  had  a  daughter 
whom  he  called  Muz-zas-Ka,  meaning  White  Metal. 
He  loved  her  dearly,  and,  although  not  as  beautiful  as 
some  maidens  of  her  tribe,  she  was  comely  and  fair  to 
look  upon. 

When  about  eighteen  years  of  age  this  young  maiden 
was  stricken  with  malarial  fever  and  soon  was  grievously 
ill,  partly  because  of  the  treatment  which  the  red  men 
gave  her.  For,  when  Indians  are  ill,  instead  of  keeping 
them  as  quiet  as  possible,  as  do  the  whites,  the  redskins 
make  a  great  noise  and  beating  of  tom-toms  or  drums 
around  the  person  who  is  unwell. 

For  some  days,  as  Muz-zas-Ka  lay  in  a  stupor,  very 
weak  and  faint  from  her  illness,  the  Indian  medicine 
men  danced  about  her,  chanting  doleful  songs  and  mak- 
ing a  terrible  noise  with  gourds  partly  filled  with  shot. 
This  racket,  of  course,  only  made  her  worse,  and  she 
was  given  over  to  die,  as  she  was  delirious. 


286  FAMOUS  SCOUTS 

At  tills  time,  Frank  Powell  (White  Beaver),  who 
Tyj^f  studied  medicine,  came,  by  accident,  to  the  camp 
of  the  red  men.  Hearing  tfrc  death  *fa|"t  n?w  ^*"  *f*tb 
he  asked  what  was  the  cause. 

"  Muz-zas-Ka,  the  daughter  of  Rocky  Bear,  is  about 
to  die,"  said  a  squaw. 

"Let  me  see  the  maiden/*  answered  Dr.  Powefl. 

So  he  was  led  to  the  wigwam  where  lay  the  poor 
girl 

After  examining  her,  he  turned  to  her  father,  saying: 
"Let  me  look  after  your  daughter  for  two  weeks  and  I 
can,  I  believe,  restore  her  to  fife." 

"Ugfr!"  grunted  Rocky  Bear.  "I  do  not  believe 
you.  But  you  can  try." 

So  Dr.  Powefl  took  charge  of  poor  Muz-zas-Ka. 

First  he  sent  all  of  the  tom-tom  beating  medicine 
men  away  and  let  the  patient  have  absolute  quiet.  Then 
he  gave  her  certain  medicines  which  he  had  with  him, 
which  greatly  reduced  her  fever.  In  a  week  she  was 
able  to  sit  up,  and  in  a  month  she  had  fufly  recovered. 

Rocky  Bear  was  delighted.  To  prove  his  gratitude 
he  presented  Dr.  Powefl  with  the  skin  of  a  white  beaver, 
which,  among  the  Sioux,  k  regarded  with  awe  and 
veneration.  Just  as  the  Siamese  worship  white  ele- 
phants, •hkh  are  extremely  rare,  the  TnHuina  worship 
the  stifl  rarer  white  beaver. 

In  making  the  present,  Rocky  Bear  said: 

"I  love  yon  much.  You  have  saved  the  fife  of  my 
fair  daughter.  Tour  mother  was  an  Indian  woman  and 
a  member  of  the  beaver  tribe  of  Senecas.  You  shafl 
be  known,  henceforth,  as  8hoppa-8ka:  White  Beaver. 


WHITE   BEAVER  287 

May  the  Great  Spirit  ever  watch  over  you.  Rocky  Bear 
has  spoken." 

And  this  is  how  Dr.  Powell  came  by  his  name.  He 
won  it  nobly. 

Rocky  Bear  was  a  Cut-off  Sioux,  and,  attracted  by 
the  life  led  by  these  marauders  of  the  plains,  White 
Beaver  joined  them.  This  branch  of  the  tribe  was 
called  "Cut-off"  because  it  had  withdrawn  from  the 
main  body,  had  cut  itself  off,  and  its  members  had 
become  bandits  and  thieves  of  the  prairie,  engaging  in 
expeditions  for  stealing  horses,  sheep  and  other  posses- 
sions. They  operated  against  the  Arapahoes  and 
Cheyennes,  and  were  real  "bad  Injuns."  They  were 
desperadoes, —  reckless  and  vengeful. 

Following  these  bad  men  of  the  plains,  Dr.  Powell 
was  led  into  many  frightful  slaughters  and  raids.  He 
was  a  wonderful  shot  and,  naturally,  the  Indians  were 
glad  to  have  such  a  man  among  them. 

One  day  Rocky  Bear  and  his  reckless  followers 
were  camped  near  the  South  Platte  River,  waiting  for 
some  innocent  victims  to  come  by,  when  a  scout  came 
galloping  wildly  into  camp. 

"A  party  of  fifty  Arapahoes  is  far  to  the  south," 
said  he.  "  They  are  crossing  a  prairie  butte  with  a  herd 
of  horses." 

In  a  moment  the  camp  of  the  Cut-offs  was  astir. 
Before  an  hour  they  had  started  for  the  band  of  red 
men,  to  kill  them  and^take  their  horses.  And  it  was  not 
long  before  the  little  party  was  sighted,  wending  its 
way  across  the  plain  in  fancied  peace  and  security. 

With  a  fierce  yelping  and  screeching  the  Cut-offs 


288  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

bore  down  upon  the  Arapahoes.  White  Beaver  was  in 
the  thick  of  the  battle,  killing  several  of  the  redskins 
and  scalping  them  in  a  running  fight  from  his  horse, 
for  he  was  like  a  wild  man,  himself,  and  was  not  at  all 
scrupulous  about  cutting  off  the  hair  of  an  enemy.  The 
Arapahoes  put  up  a  game  fight,  for  their  numbers  were 
about  equal  to  those  of  the  other  redskins  and  they  had 
many  warriors  among  them,  in  fact,  it  was  a  war  party. 

As  White  Beaver  galloped  along,  he  was  particularly 
attracted  by  a  powerful  redskin  who  was  carrying  a 
long  lance  decorated  with  fully  a  dozen  scalps.  It  was 
plain  to  every  eye  that  he  was  the  pride  and  hero  of  this 
band  of  travellers.  "Watch  me  capture  the  big  chief," 
cried  White  Beaver  in  Indian,  as  he  spurred  his  pony 
towards  this  warrior,  who,  with  a  rifle  and  cartridge 
belt,  was  creating  sad  havoc  among  the  attackers. 

The  Arapahoe  paid  no  attention  to  the  boastful 
white  man  as  he  advanced.  Seizing  his  revolver,  the 
famous  scout  endeavored  to  shoot,  but,  as  every  cartridge 
had  been  discharged,  it  failed  to  go  off.  It  was  too 
late  to  draw  another  weapon.  His  horse  just  then 
bumped  into  the  enemy,  and  the  red  man  made  a  vicious 
thrust  with  his  long,  keenly  pointed  lance.  He  did  not 
impale  his  antagonist,  but  missed  him.  The  lance 
was  jabbed  again,  and  striking  White  Beaver  in  the 
left  thigh,  it  cut  a  vein,  from  which  a  torrent  of  blood 
spouted. 

White  Beaver  —  unable  to  hold  on  —  fell  to  the 
ground.  His  horse  at  this  moment  was  shot  by  the 
Indians  and  the  warriors  rushed  upon  him  to  put  an 
end  to  the  celebrated  plainsman.  As  they  came  on, 


WHITE   BEAVER  289 

the  prostrate  gladiator  of  the  West  seized  another  pistol 
from  his  belt  and  killed  two  red  men  as  they  advanced. 
"Help  me,  Rocky  Bear,"  cried  White  Beaver.  "If 
you  do  not  come  to  my  aid  they  will  have  my  scalp." 

As  he  called  this  out,  Rocky  Bear  ran  to  his  rescue 
at  the  head  of  a  dozen  braves.  Endeared  to  White 
Beaver  because  he  had  saved  the  life  of  his  daughter, 
he  keenly  endeavored  to  risk  his  own  life  in  order  to 
save  the  life  of  the  fallen  plainsman.  Crack!  Crack! 
sounded  his  rifle,  and  the  redskin  fell  dead  who  had 
killed  the  faithful  horse.  His  companions  rushed  upon 
the  Arapahoes  with  vengeance  in  their  eyes,  and,  before 
many  moments,  the  Cut-offs  had  won.  It  was  at  a 
dreadful  cost,  as  nearly  half  their  number  lay  dead  upon 
the  parched  and  yellow  soil  of  the  prairie. 

As  the  last  Arapahoe  rode  furiously  off  across  the 
plain,  Rocky  Bear  lifted  the  now  prostrate  White  Beaver 
and  placed  him  upon  his  own  war  pony.  Then  a  swing- 
ing litter  was  slung  between  two  horses,  and  he  was 
thus  carted  away  to  his  mother's  ranch,  which  was 
luckily  near  by.  Here  he  lingered  between  life  and  death 
for  several  days,  but,  thanks  to  the  care  of  his  devoted 
mother,  finally  recovered.  As  he  was  rapidly  getting 
stronger,  his  parent  turned  to  him  and  said: 

"Frank,  let  this  battle  be  a  lesson  to  you.  You 
have  degenerated  from  a  noble  scout  and  plainsman  to 
an  ignoble  thief  of  the  mountains.  Give  up  your  associa- 
tion with  Rocky  Bear  and  his  marauders,  for  my  sake, 
and  for  the  sake  of  your  dear  father,  who  would  turn  in 
his  grave  if  he  knew  that  you  were  making  your  camp- 
ing place  with  the  Cut-off  Indians,  the  outcasts  of  their 


290  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

race.  Come,  from  now  on  I  want  you  to  turn  over  a 
new  leaf." 

White  Beaver  scowled,  for  he  had  begun  to  love 
the  ways  of  the  roving  redskins. 

"For  your  sake,  mother,"  he  said,  at  length,  "I 
will  give  up  this  life  of  plunder  and  death.  I  admit 
that  I  have  begun  to  like  the  ways  of  the  Cut-offs,  for 
they  have  been  most  friendly  to  me.  But  I  know  that 
I  am  degenerating  —  as  you  say.  Henceforth  I  will 
not  build  my  fire  with  the  associates  of  Rocky  Bear." 

And  he  kept  his  word.  But  how  came  this  noted 
scout  to  be  medicine  man  of  the  Winnebago  Sioux? 
Here  is  the  story  of  this  important  event  in  his  life,  told 
in  his  own  words: 

"In  1876,"  he  says,  "I  was  on  a  deer  hunt  in  the 
pine  forests  above  Black  River  Falls.  It  has  been  my 
custom  to  take  a  deer  hunt  every  year,  and  I  usually 
visit  the  camps  of  the  redskins  to  be  of  medical  assistance 
to  them  if  it  is  needed,  and  to  be  brought  in  contact 
with  the  Indian  character,  for  I  like  to  study  them  and 
their  strange  customs. 

"It  chanced  that  while  on  this  hunt,  old  Wee-noo- 
Sheik,  head  chief  of  the  Winnebago  Nation,  was 
very  ill.  He  was  suffering  from  fever  and  from  old 
wounds  received  in  battle.  His  medicine  men  had  been 
unable  to  relieve  him  and,  learning  that  I  was  in  his 
vicinity,  he  sent  out  several  members  of  his  tribe  to 
search  for  me  and  beg  me  to  come  to  see  him.  I  was 
easily  found  and  readily  assented  to  go  and  see  him. 

"Once  in  his  camp,  he  told  me  that  I  should  not 
leave  him  until  he  was -cured.  In  so  far  as  it  is  not  an 


WHITE   BEAVER  291 

uncommon  thing  for  chiefs  to  order  the  execution  of  a 
medicine  man  who  fails  to  cure  a  distinguished  patient 
of  this  tribe,  I  was  not  in  a  very  rapturous  frame  of 
mind  when  I  took  charge  of  Wee-noo-Sheik.  His 
condition  became  a  matter  of  extreme  importance  to 
me,  though  I  betrayed  no  feeling  of  anxiety,  as  I  did  not 
regard  the  case  as  a  very  dangerous  one  in  the  beginning. 
I  gave  him  my  best  professional  services. 

"The  old  chief  did  not  recover  as  rapidly  as  I  had 
wished  or  expected.  In  about  three  weeks,  however, 
the  ancient  warrior  was  able  to  go  out  of  his  tepee  again 
and  to  resume  his  usual  occupations.  He  began  to 
smoke  again  and  went  deer  hunting.  I  knew  that  my 
own  life  was  in  no  danger. 

"Directly  after  his  recovery  Wee-noo-Sheik  called 
a  council  of  his  people  and  said: 

" '  White  Beaver  he  one  big  man  with  the  medicine. 
White  Beaver  he  give  me  new  life.  White  Beaver,  I 
never  forget  you.  Ugh!  I  make  you  medicine  chief 
of  my  Nation.  I  have  spoken.'  And  this  is  how  I 
became  chief  medicine  man  of  the  Winnebago  Sioux." 

In  the  spring  of  1877  the  famous  plainsman  wds  away 
on  a  scouting  campaign  with  a  company  of  soldiers 
from  Camp  Stambaugh,  under  the  command  of  a  Captain 
Meinhold.  These  troops  had  been  ordered  out  because 
the  Cheyennes  had  become  troublesome;  had  stolen 
much  stock,  and  had  killed  many  settlers.  It  was 
thought  that  they  would  soon  go  on  the  warpath,  so  this 
expedition  was  sent  forward,  more  to  intimidate  than  to 
punish.  "We  wish  to  show  the  redskins  how  many 
long  swords  we  have,"  said  Captain  Meinhold. 


292  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

The  troopers  went  slowly  along  for  several  days 
and  then  came  across  many  burned  cabins  and  other 
signs  of  redskin  deviltry.  The  red  men  had  plainly 
been  upon  the  warpath.  Every  sign  was  fresh,  so  the 
soldiers  travelled  cautiously  along,  striking,  at  length, 
a  new  trail  leading  up  a  river  bank;  plain  evidence  that 
over  one  hundred  Cheyennes  had  recently  gone  by. 

As  the  trail  grew  plainer,  horrible  proofs  of  redskin 
outrages  came  to  the  view  of  the  soldiers.  Cabins  lay 
destroyed,  while  fences  were  broken  down  and  fields 
of  grain  had  been  trampled  upon  and  burned.  Finally 
the  dust-stained  troopers  reached  a  point  overlooking 
a  gorge.  Gazing  into  the  valley  below,  a  dreadful  sight 
met  their  eager  eyes. 

There,  below  them,  were  broken  emigrant  wagons, 
a  smouldering  camp  fire,  and  fifteen  white  men  and 
women  lying  dead  and  mutilated  as  only  a  redskin 
knows  how  to  mutilate. 

"The  redskins  have  surprised  this  party,"  said  White 
Beaver.  "They  were  butchered  before  they  knew  who 
was  upon  them.  Let  us  bury  the  dead  in  a  Christian 
manner." 

Turning  to  with  a  will,  the  soldiers  soon  dug  deep 
graves,  into  which  they  threw  the  disfigured  bodies 
of  the  dead,  covering  them  well  so  as  to  keep  away  the 
wolves  and  coyotes. 

"We  will  now  chase  and  punish  these  rascally  red 
men,"  cried  the  captain.  "Tighten  up  your  girths, 
men,  and  we'll  follow  this  trail  if  it  leads  to  Mexico." 

"Hurrah!"  shouted  the  soldiers.  "We'll  get  even 
with  the  redskins.  On,  Captain,  on!" 


WHITE   BEAVER  293 

For  two  days  the  troopers  plodded  along  on  the 
track  of  the  red  men.  The  Indians  had  marched 
very  rapidly.  But  on  the  evening  of  the  second  day, 
they  were  come  upon,  just  as  they  were  making 
camp. 

"Is  all  ready?"  cried  the  captain.  "We  will  charge 
the  camp  at  once." 

"All  ready!"  shouted  the  troopers. 

"Then  charge!"  cried  the  captain,  as  the  bugle 
blared  the  order. 

Up  over  the  foothills  raced  the  soldiers,  and,  in  less 
time  than  it  takes  to  tell  it,  they  were  in  the  midst  of 
the  Cheyennes.  Crash!  went  the  carbines  and  many 
a  red  man  bit  the  dust,  while  the  screams  of  their  women 
echoed  shrilly  over  the  tumult  of  battle.  Ten  redskins 
dropped  before  the  unerring  rifle  of  White  Beaver  and 
he  was  eagerly  loading  for  another  shot,  when  zip!  — 
a  bullet  struck  him  in  the  groin  and  he  fell  senseless. 
The  battle  swept  on  over  the  rolling  hills,  while  the  brave 
scout  lay  prostrate. 

As  the  troopers  came  slowly  back,  after  chasing  the 
murderous  Cheyennes  for  five  miles,  and  killing  over 
half  of  them,  they  found  the  body  of  White  Beaver  and 
lifted  him  upon  a  horse.  Slowly  and  carefully  he  was 
carried  back  to  Camp  Meinhold,  where  for  two  months 
he  lay  near  death's  door.  But  his  resolution  and  courage 
finally  won,  and  the  gallant  scout  recovered.  Ever 
afterwards  he  would  speak  with  a  shudder  of  the  terrible 
butchery  of  the  Cheyennes  at  Massacre  Canon.  By 
this  name  the  little  valley  has  always  been  known  and, 
if  you  find  it  today,  near  the  North  Platte  River,  you 


294  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

will  hardly  realize  that  such  a  spirited  drama  was  once 
enacted  in  this  peaceful-looking  little  vale. 

There  have  been  many  famous  rifle  shots  on  the 
plains  but  few  have  ever  surpassed  the  accurate 
marksmanship  of  this  well-known  man  of  the  West. 
He  shot  in  many  contests  and  was  usually  successful. 
All  admired  his  marvellous  skill  with  both  the  rifle 
and  the  revolver,  and  few  would  match  their  skill  with 
his. 

This  strange  character,  a  man  who  had  fought  both 
with  the  redskins  and  against  them,  spent  his  declining 
years  at  Black  River  Falls,  Wisconsin,  in  the  practice 
of  medicine.  He  had  been  a  scout,  a  soldier  and  a 
desperado.  He  had  sunk  to  the  lowest  depths  of 
degradation  on  the  plains  —  had  become  a  Cut-off, 
a  Dog  Soldier  —  yet,  by  a  herculean  effort  of  the  will, 
he  cast  aside  the  ways  of  the  desperado  for  the  nobler 
field  of  assistance  to  those  of  his  fellowmen  who  were 
suffering  pain  and  bodily  affliction.  A  curious  transit 
this,  for,  in  the  intervals  between  fierce  campaigns  on 
the  plains,  he  had  learned  surgery  and  general  medicine. 
It  was  to  save  him  from  becoming  a  cast-off  of 
civilization. 

For  many  years  the  Winnebago  Sioux  consulted 
him  on  every  political  step  contemplated  by  the  tribe. 
His  word  was  law  among  them.  He  treated  them  in 
sickness  and  counselled  them  in  good  health;  thus  —  in 
peace  and  honor  —  closed  the  life  of  White  Beaver,  one 
of  the  best  known  plainsmen  of  the  then  unconquered 
West;  an  expert  rifle  shot,  and  a  scout  whose  ability 
was  supreme. 


WHITE   BEAVER  295 

He  lies  where  the  coyote  once  snapped  at  the  trail 

Of  the  elk,  as  he  browsed  on  the  sweet-smelling  sedge, 
Where  the  brown  bison  roamed,  with  the  pace  of  the 
snail, 

And  the  warrior  sneaked  on  the  porphyry  ledge. 
His  eye  saw  the  cabin  aflame  and  surrounded, 

His  voice  called  the  plainsmen  to  march  to  the  fray, 
His  nerve  gave  the  soldiers  courage  unbounded, 

As  they  raced  with  the  Cheyenne  on  sand  hummocks 

gray. 

Then  here's  to  White  Beaver, —  the  King  of  the  Moun- 
tain, 

Whose  aim  was  unerring,  whose  muscles  were  steel, 
Whose  blood  ran  as  free  as  a  swift-gushing  fountain, 

A  health  to  our  plainsman,— do'st  heed  this  appeal? 


THE   HONORABLE   WILLIAM   F.   CODY: 
BUFFALO  BILL 

IT'S  spring  in  old  Manhattan,  an'  th'  sparrers  chirp 
an'  fight, 

In  all  the  ivy-covered  fronts,  they  only  stop  at 

night. 

Th'  Hurdy-gurdy's  back  again,  th'  Hokey  Pokey  man 
Has  got  a  brand-new,  white  duck  suit; 
He  looks  just  spick  an'  span. 

I'm  gettin'  awful  tired  of  my  lessons  an'  my  school, 
I  wish  that  all  would  burn  right  up.     Our  teacher  is  a 

fool 
Ter  keep  us  addin'  figures,  when  it's  nice  an'  warm 

outside, 
An'  th'  swimmin's  sumthin'  scrumptious  in  th'  ocean's 

surgin'  tide. 
But  hear!  th'  band  is  comin',  an'  there's  noises  in  th' 

park. 
It's  Injuns!    Hully  gee,  boys!    There's   goin'  ter  be 

a  lark! 
Good-bye  ter  books  an'  lessons, —  this  schoolin'  makes 

me  ill. 
Come,  fellers!    Join  th'  cowboys! 

Hurray 

fer 

Buffalo  Bill! 
296 


BUFFALO    BILL   (wiLLIAM    F.    CODY.) 


BUFFALO   BILL  297 

Who,  in  America  and  Europe,  doesn't  know  Buffalo 
Bill?  Buffalo  Bill  of  the  bucking  bronchos,  the 
overland  stage,  the  pony  express,  the  yelping  red- 
skins, the  daring  cowboys,  the  dashing  cowgirls,  the 
famous  rifle  shots  —  Johnny  Baker  and  Annie  Oak- 
ley —  the  jolly  vaqueros.  Good,  old  Buffalo  Bill. 
Fine,  old  Buffalo  Bill.  Many  and  many  a  pleasant 
hour  have  you  given  us  with  your  galaxy  of  daring 
riders,  untamed  horses,  galloping  redskins,  and  career- 
ing soldiers.  May  your  red  shirt  continue  to  lead 
your  band  of  wild  equestrians  of  the  plains  for  many 
a  moon.  Here's  to  you,  Buffalo  Bill! 

But  are  you  a  real,  true  hero  of  the  plains,  Buffalo 
Bill?  Did  you  ever  really  figure  in  the  development 
of  the  West,  Buffalo  Bill?  Did  you  ever  take  part  in 
the  dashing  escapades  which  we  have  seen  in  the  tan- 
bark  arena,  Buffalo  Bill?  Were  you  ever  truly  a  mighty 
hunter  of  the  plains? 

As  the  French  say,  certainement. 

But,  as  the  Indians  say,  "Buffalo  Bill,  he  one  big 
fighter  with  the  stick  which  speaks  with  the  voice 
of  thunder.  The-chief-with-the-red-shirt  he  take 
many  scalp.  He  one  big  man  on  the  trail!  Ugh! 
Buffalo  Bill  he  same  as  Great  Spirit!  Ugh!  Ugh!" 

Yes,  the  Honorable  William  F.  Cody  is  a  real,  bona- 
fide  hero  of  the  plains.  Listen,  then,  to  the  story  of 
his  adventurous  life.  But,  if  you  want  to  have  ad- 
ventures similar  to  his  you  can't  have  them,  for  there 
isn't  any  great  West  any  more,  and  the  wild  life  which 
he  lived  cannot  be  found  again. 

One  day  —  about  the  year  1852  —  a  little  fellow 


298  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

with  long  brown  hair  and  dressed  in  a  suit  of  tanned 
deer  hide  was  standing  on  the  street  at  Fort  Leaven- 
worth,  Kansas.  A  crowd  of  Indian  ponies  were  near  by, 
but  the  boy  didn't  try  to  get  on  one  of  them  and  take 
a  ride  because  he  was  afraid  to  do  so.  He  had  tried 
to  get  on  two  or  three  of  them,  the  day  before,  but  they 
had  bucked  and  plunged  so  wildly  that  he  had  been  glad 
to  leave  them  alone. 

As  the  boy  stood  watching  the  ponies,  and  saying 
to  himself :  "  My,  I  wish  that  I  could  ride  one  of  those 
horses,"  there  came  towards  him  a  magnificent  specimen 
of  western  manhood.  The  boy  looked  at  him  admir- 
ingly for  the  fellow  was  more  than  six  feet  tall.  His 
body  was  clothed  in  a  beautifully  beaded  suit  of  buck- 
skin. His  brown  face  was  shaded  by  a  huge  sombrero, 
and  his  step  was  as  light  and  springy  as  a  deer's.  Look- 
ing at  the  boy,  he  said: 

"Little  one,  your  ponies  seem  to  be  very  wild." 

"Yes,"  replied  the  boy.  "And  one  of  them  has 
never  yet  been  ridden." 

"Do  you  want  to  see  him  ridden?" 

"You  bet." 

"Then  I'll  ride  him  for  you." 

"All  right.    Let's  see  you." 

"Good,"  said  the  man  of  the  plains,  and  whirling 
his  lasso  he  soon  threw  it  over  the  head  of  one  of  the 
ponies.  The  animal  reared  and  plunged  madly.  But, 
fastening  him  by  a  strong  grip,  the  cowboy  soon  threw 
him.  In  a  second  he  had  his  saddle  on  his  back,  and 
in  fifteen  minutes  the  bridle  was  on  the  horse's  head. 
Then  the  frontiersman  leaped  into  the  saddle  and  the 


BUFFALO   BILL  299 

pony  made  off,  bucking,  rearing  and  plunging  in  a 
desperate  endeavor  to  unseat  the  rider.  It  was  in  vain. 
After  bucking  for  about  twenty  minutes  he  decided 
that  it  was  useless  to  try  to  throw  the  cowboy,  and 
tamely  submitted  to  the  guidance  of  his  master. 

As  the  man  in  buckskin  brought  the  pony  in,  the 
father  of  the  boy  stepped  up  to  him,  thanking  him  for 
his  exhibition  of  horsemanship. 

"  Oh  that's  nothing,"  said  the  fellow.  "  I  was  raised 
on  horseback.  I  ran  away  from  home  when  I  was  a  boy. 
I  was  a  bareback  rider,  for  a  time,  in  a  circus.  Then 
I  heard  of  the  gold  excitement  in  California  and  went 
there,  hot^as  a  miner,  but  as  a  bocarro,  a  catcher  and 
breaker-in  of  wild  horses.  Last  summer  we  caught 
this  herd  that  we  have  brought  across  the  plains,  and 
want  to  sell  it  in  the  states.  I'm  going  over  to  Weston 
tomorrow  to  see  if  my  uncle  is  still  living  there,  and 
when  we've  sold  the  horses  I'll  go  and  see  the  rest  of 
my  folks  in  Ohio." 

"I  am  acquainted  in  Weston,"  said  the  father  of 
the  boy.  "Perhaps  I  can  tell  you  about  your  uncle. 
What  is  his  name?" 

"Elijah  Cody!" 

"Elijah  Cody!    Why,  he  is  my  brother!" 

"And  my  name  is  Horace  Billings.  Ever  hear  of 
me?" 

"Well,  I  reckon.  You  ran  away  when  a  young 
man  and  we'd  given  you  up  for  lost.  Welcome,  Mr. 
Billings.  This  is  my  little  son,  William  Cody."  The 
rough  rider  smiled  broadly. 

"Show  me  how  to  rope  and  ride  horses,"  cried 


300  FAMOUS    SCOUTS 

little  William  at  once.  "I'm  dying  to  learn  how  to 
ride  as  you  do." 

His  cousin  laughed.  "Why,  my  boy/'  said  he, 
"nothing  would  give  me  greater  pleasure."  And  this 
is  how  little  William  F.  Cody  (Buffalo  Bill)  first  learned 
how  to  be  a  cowboy. 

Soon  after  this  meeting  Billings  was  employed  in 
catching  government  horses,  a  large  herd  of  which 
had  stampeded  from  Leavenworth  some  time  before, 
and  now  roamed  over  the  prairies.  During  the  time 
that  he  was  thus  employed  little  Billy  was  his  constant 
companion,  and  received  from  him  excellent  lessons 
in  throwing  the  lasso  and  managing  wild  horses.  Of 
course  he  was  not  strong  enough  to  overturn  the  big 
animals,  but  he  watched  his  active  cousin  as  he  whirled 
the  lasso  over  the  head  of  the  galloping  steeds  and 
threw  them  —  with  nostrils  distended  and  eyes  glaring 
with  terror  —  upon  the  ground.  It  was  exciting 
enough  sport  and  Billy  enjoyed  it. 

Not  long  afterwards  little  Billy  Cody  had  his  first 
brush  with  the  redskins.  His  parents  had  moved  to 
the  far  West  because  of  political  troubles  in  Missouri 
and  Kansas,  where  Mr.  Cody,  Billy's  father,  championed 
the  cause  of  Abolition,  or  of  doing  away  with  slavery. 
This  change  of  abode  pleased  Billy  more  than  it  did 
his  parents  for  he  loved  adventure,  and  meeting  one 
day  with  Mr.  Russell,  a  great  freighter,  he  said  to  him: 

"Mr.  Russell,  I  have  lost  my  pony.  Some  redskin, 
I  fear,  has  stolen  him  from  me  for  he  was  grazing 
out  on  the  prairie  behind  my  cabin  just  two  days  ago. 
What  shall  I  do  for  another  horse?" 


BUFFALO   BILL  301 

"  Billy,  my  boy,  cheer  up,"  said  Mr.  Russell.  "  Come 
to  Leavenworth  with  me  and  I'll  employ  you.  I'll 
give  you  twenty-five  dollars  a  month  to  herd  cattle." 

"Fine,"  cried  young  Cody.    "I'll  accept  at  once." 

But  when  he  told  his  mother  of  his  plans  he  met 
with  strong  opposition. 

"I'm  afraid  that  you'll  fall  into  the  hands  of  the 
redskins,"  said  she.  "Besides,  I  want  you  to  stay 
at  home  and  go  to  school." 

In  spite  of  all  his  arguments  Billy  could  not  per- 
suade his  mother  to  let  him  remain  with  Mr.  Russell, 
—  so  he  ran  away.  Just  as  the  freight  train  was  start- 
ing to  Fort  Phil  Kearney,  he  turned  up,  saying, 

"I've  come  to  earn  that  twenty-five  dollars,  Mr. 
Russell.  Where  are  the  cattle?" 

"Glad  to  see  you,"  said  the  boss  freighter.  "The 
cattle  are  out  here.  Go  to  work  at  once,  and  I  promise 
you  that  you'll  have  some  excitement,  as  the  redskins 
are  thick  in  this  here  country,  and  they  certainly  love 
the  sleek  cattle  of  the  white  man." 

Young  Cody  went  to  work  with  a  will  and  accom- 
panied the  freight  train  towards  Fort  Kearney.  When 
the  train  reached  Plum  Creek,  on  the  South  Platte 
River,  thirty-five  miles  west  of  old  Fort  Kearney, 
the  wagon-masters  and  most  of  the  men  went  to  sleep 
under  the  wagons,  as  usual;  the  cook  began  to  prepare 
dinner,  and  the  cattle  were  guarded  by  only  three  men. 
No  one  thought  that  Indians  could  be  near. 

Suddenly  a  wild  yell  sounded  upon  the  plain  and 
every  one  jumped  to  his  feet  and  seized  his  gun. 
In  astonishment  they  saw  the  cattle  running  in  every 


302  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

direction,  surrounded  by  redskins,  who  shot  and  killed 
the  three  men  who  were  watching  the  herd.  The  men 
were  well  armed  with  Colt  revolvers  and  guns  which 
carried  two  buckshot  and  a  large  bullet,  but  the  Indians 
killed  them  before  they  could  draw  their  weapons. 

"Fire  at  the  redskins,"  cried  a  teamster  called 
McCarty. 

A  volley  rang  out  and  checked  the  charge  of  the 
Indians. 

"Boys,  make  a  break  for  the  slough  yonder,"  cried 
McCarty.  "We  can  then  have  the  bank  for  a  breast- 
work." 

One  white  man  had  been  badly  wounded  by  a  bullet 
from  the  red  men,  and  he  was  carried  along,  as  the 
wagoners  made  a  break  for  the  slough,  which  afforded 
excellent  protection.  But  they  were  here  only  a  short 
time  before  McCarty  again  called  out: 

"Well,  boys,  we'll  try  to  make  our  way  back  to 
Fort  Kearney  by  wading  in  the  river  and  keeping  the 
bank  for  a  breastwork." 

"You're  right,"  cried  all.  "Better  retreat.  The 
Indians  are  too  many  for  us." 

Retreating  down  the  slough  for  several  miles,  the 
white  men  stood  off  the  redskins  with  their  guns  until 
the  slough  made  a  junction  with  the  Platte  River. 
From  there  on  the  water  was  deep,  so  in  order  to  carry 
the  wounded  man  along,  a  raft  was  constructed  of  poles 
and  he  was  transported  along  upon  this.  The  redskins 
followed  close  behind,  and  fired  wherever  they  could 
get  in  good  range. 

Little  Billy  —  being  the  youngest  and  smallest  of 


BUFFALO   BILL  303 

the  party  —  fell  behind  the  rest,  because  he  became 
very  tired.  About  ten  o'clock  that  night  he  was  keep- 
ing very  close  to  the  bank,  when  he  suddenly  looked 
up  at  the  moonlit  sky  and  saw  the  tufted  head  of  a 
redskin  peering  over  the  grass.  Instead  of  running 
ahead  and  alarming  the  men,  quietly  and  discreetly, 
he  immediately  aimed  at  the  red  man's  head  and  fir9d. 
Crack!  sounded  his  gun  in  the  stillness,  and  a  loud 
whoop  welled  up  into  the  night  air.  The  next  instant 
a  six-foot  Indian  came  tumbling  into  the  river,  while 
little  Billy  stood  trembling  with  fear  that  the  entire 
force  of  red  men  would  immediately  be  upon  him. 

While  the  young  plainsman  stood  bewildered,  the 
men,  who  had  heard  the  war-whoop  and  rifle  shot, 
came  rushing  up  to  him. 

"Who  fired  that  shot?"  cried  McCarty. 

"I  did,"  answered  Billy,  rather  proudly. 

"Yes,  and  little  Billy  has  killed  an  Indian  stone 
dead,"  cried  one  of  the  crowd.  "Bully  for  you,  young 
scout,  you'll  make  a  plainsman  yet!" 

This  was,  of  course,  the  first  redskin  that  Bill  had 
ever  shot  and,  as  he  was  not  more  than  eleven  years 
of  age,  of  course  his  exploit  created  quite  a  sensation. 
The  other  Indians,  upon  learning  what  had  happened, 
fired  several  shots  without  effect,  which  hastened  the 
retreat  down  the  river,  so  that  Fort  Kearney  was  reached 
just  at  daybreak,  and  the  wounded  man  was  brought 
in  safe  and  sound. 

McCarty  quickly  reported  to  the  commanding 
officer  and  informed  him  what  had  happened.  A 
company  of  cavalry  and  one  of  infantry  were  immedi- 


304  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

ately  sent  to  Plum  Creek,  but  the  cattle  were  found 
to  be  stampeded  and  lost  among  the  vast  herds  of 
buffalo  which  were  grazing  near  by.  The  trail  of  the 
red  men  was  followed  for  some  distance  and  then  aban- 
doned, while  the  three  dead  cattle  herders  were 
buried.  Little  Bill  Cody  went  along  with  the  soldiers. 
He  was  much  praised  for  his  daring  shot,  and  many 
a  frontiersman  patted  him  on  the  back,  saying,  "  You're 
a  good  boy.  Always  keep  your  nerve  with  you,  and 
you'll  come  out  all  right  with  the  redskins." 

Not  long  afterwards  young  Cody  had  another  ex- 
citing adventure  with  the  red  riders  of  the  plains. 

Joining  a  freight  train  from  Fort  Laramie  to  Fort 
Leavenworth,  little  Billy  sought  employment  under 
a  wagon-master  called  Simpson  who  was  in  charge  of 
two  trains,  which  travelled  about  fifteen  miles  apart 
with  about  two  hundred  men  with  each.  One  morn- 
ing, while  Simpson  was  with  the  rear  train,  he  told  his 
assistant  wagon-master,  George  Woods,  to  call  young 
Cody,  saddle  up  three  mules,  and  ride  with  him  to  over- 
take the  head  train,  then  out  of  sight  across  the  prairie. 

Much  overjoyed  at  the  prospect  of  a  ride  across 
the  sweeping  plain,  little  Billy  eagerly  saddled  his 
mule  and  joined  the  two  freighters,  who  started  out 
about  eleven  o'clock.  They  rode  on  for  about  seven 
miles,  when  —  while  on  a  big  plateau  —  they  suddenly 
saw  black  specks  rapidly  nearing  them  on  the  prairie. 

"Stop!"  cried  Simpson.     "They  may  be  redskins!" 

"Indians,  by  all  that's  holy,"  cried  Woods,  "we're 
gone  for  sure." 

The  Indians,  meanwhile,  had  rapidly  approached, 


BUFFALO   BILL  305 

and  were  charging  down  upon  the  three  whites  with 
wild  yells  of  delight,  for  they  were  sure  that  they  had 
them. 

Simpson  was  an  old  Indian  fighter.  "Quick,  boys," 
he  shouted.  "Shoot  your  mules  and  form  a  barricade 
with  them.  The  redskins  have  only  got  bows  and 
arrows.  We've  got  a  good  chance  to  stand  'em  off 
behind  the  dead  bodies  of  our  mules." 

In  a  jiffy  the  mules  had  been  slaughtered  and 
the  three  teamsters  leaped  inside  the  barricade  of  mule 
flesh,  all  ready  to  receive  the  yelping  Indians.  Each 
was  armed  with  a  Mississippi  yager  (rifle)  and  two 
revolvers,  and  as  the  screeching  warriors  came  swoop- 
ing down  upon  their  improvised  fort,  crash!  crash! 
sounded  the  volleys  from  their  rifles.  Three  Indians 
dropped  to  the  sod  and,  yelling  wildly  with  rage, 
the  others  retreated  out  of  range.  Seeing  that  they 
could  not  take  the  little  fortification,  or  drive  the  gar- 
rison from  it,  they  circled  around  it  several  times, 
shooting  their  arrows  and  yelping  like  the  panthers 
of  the  vast  Rocky  Mountains. 

Suddenly  George  Woods  gave  a  sharp  cry. 

"I'm  hit,"  said  he,  and  as  Simpson  and  young 
Cody  looked  at  him  they  saw  that  an  arrow  had  pierced 
his  shoulder,  luckily  inflicting  only  a  slight  wound. 
Many  an  arrow  struck  and  quivered  in  the  bodies  of 
the  prostrate  mules. 

At  this  moment  the  redskins  galloped  off  to  a  safe 
distance,  where  bullets  could  not  reach  them,  and  seemed 
to  be  holding  a  council  of  war.  It  was  a  lucky  move 
for  the  three  plainsmen,  for  it  gave  them  time  to  re- 


306  FAMOUS    SCOUTS 

load  their  guns  and  pistols  and  prepare  for  the  next 
charge.  With  their  knives  they  also  threw  up  earth 
over  the  mule  barricade,  thus  making  it  more  effective. 
The  arrow  was  pulled  from  Woods's  shoulder. 

Again  welled  out  the  wild  Indian  yell,  and  the  red- 
skins came  on  for  another  charge.  Crash!  Crash! 
sounded  the  volleys  from  the  barricade  and  again  the 
red  men  were  checked.  Circling  around  several  times, 
yelling  and  screeching,  they  rode  off  leaving  another 
dead  Indian  and  a  horse  behind  them.  For  two  hours 
afterwards  they  did  nothing  but  palaver  with  one 
another,  evidently  trying  to  decide  upon  the  best  man- 
ner of  capturing  the  three  whites.  Thus  the  exciting 
day  wore  to  a  close. 

That  night  the  cunning  red  men  set  the  buffalo 
grass  on  fire.  But  it  was  short  and  would  not  burn 
well.  In  the  smoke  the  most  daring  redskins  crept 
up  near  the  mule  barricade,  but  several  well-aimed 
shots  kept  them  at  a  respectful  distance.  They  aban- 
doned the  idea  of  surprising  the  courageous  fighters 
in  the  fort  but,  apparently  believing  that  the  three 
whites  belonged  to  the  advance  train  that  had  passed 
on  the  morning  of  the  previous  day,  they  sat  around 
to  starve  them  out.  "You  never  reach  your  friends!" 
cried  out  a  redskin  who  knew  a  little  English.  "  Ugh ! 
Your  scalps  soon  belong  to  us!" 

About  ten  o'clock  on  the  next  day  young  Billy 
jumped  up  with  an  expression  of  joy  upon  his  face. 

"  I  hear  the  second  train  coming/'  he  cried.  "  We'll 
soon  be  free." 

Sure  enough,  the  cracking  of  the  huge  bull  whips 


BUFFALO   BILL  307 

used  by  the  ox  drivers  was  soon  heard  across  the  plain. 
With  straining  and  anxious  eyes  the  three  barricaded 
fighters  saw  the  head  wagon  coming  over  a  distant 
ridge.  It  approached  only  too  slowly,  for  the  Indians, 
seeing  it  come  on,  held  a  short  consultation  and  then 
charged  the  plainsmen  for  a  last  time.  They  were 
driven  off  and,  as  they  wildly  careered  over  the  prairie, 
the  winners  of  this  stiff  little  fight  sent  a  rattling  vol- 
ley after  them.  "Hurray,  we've  won!"  yelled  Billy. 
"Hurray  for  the  wagon  train!" 

The  teamsters,  hearing  the  shots  and  seeing  the 
Indians,  came  running  towards  the  barricade,  but  by 
the  time  they  reached  it  the  last  redskin  was  galloping 
across  the  prairie. 

"You've  put  up  a  plucky  fight,"  cried  several. 
"You  boys  are  heroes,"  said  others,  and  all  were 
certain  that  Simpson's  remarkable  presence  of  mind 
in  forming  the  defense  had  saved  the  day.  Woods's 
wound  was  bandaged  and  he  was  put  in  one  of  the 
wagons,  while  Simpson  and  little  Billy  each  obtained 
a  live  mule  to  ride;  bade  good-bye  to  the  dead  mules 
which  had  been  of  such  excellent  service,  and  after 
collecting  the  ornaments  and  feathers  from  the  pros- 
trate redskins  left  their  bodies  and  bones  to  bleach  upon 
the  prairie.  The  train  moved  on  and  reached  its  des- 
tination without  further  attack  from  the  redskins  of 
the  plains. 

Little  Bill  Cody  was  now  a  fairly  well-seasoned 
plainsman,  and  as  the  years  went  by  he  increased  in 
both  strength  and  keenness.  When  at  Julesburg, 
Colorado,  a  short  time  afterwards,  the  leading  wagon- 


308  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

master  of  a  large  firm  of  freighters  came  to  him  and 
said: 

"Cody,  we  are  just  starting  a  pony  express  be- 
tween this  station  and  the  East.  We  need  tough, 
young  men  to  do  the  work.  I  want  you,  for  you  are 
an  excellent  rider.  You  will  have  to  ride  forty-five 
miles  in  a  day  with  a  change  of  ponies  every  fifteen 
miles.  You  must  make  fifteen  miles  an  hour  and 
change  your  mounts  without  wasting  any  time.  Will 
you  take  the  position?" 

"You  bet,"  replied  young  Cody.  "I'll  be  glad  to 
do  it." 

So  he  was  engaged  as  the  carrier  of  the  express 
packages  of  Wells,  Fargo  &  Company,  by  horse. 
He  was  fortunate  in  getting  well-broken  animals  and 
was  so  light  that  he  easily  made  the  required  forty- 
five  miles  a  day.  But  the  work  was  hard  and  he  was 
in  constant  fear  of  an  assault  by  prowling  redskins  and 
robbers  of  his  own  race.  Finally  he  received  a  letter 
from  his  mother  asking  him  to  give  up  this  arduous 
service. 

"It  will  surely  kill  you,  William,"  she  wrote.  "Fif- 
teen miles  an  hour,  on  horseback,  will  shake  any  young 
man  to  pieces  in  a  very  short  time.  I  have  never 
known  a  pony  express  rider  who  could  last  any  length 
of  time.  I  want  you  to  give  up  the  work." 

Little  Bill  —  now  a  good-sized  Bill  —  stuck  to  it 
for  some  time,  in  spite  of  this,  but  after  receiving  a 
letter  to  the  effect  that  his  mother  was  very  ill,  he  gave 
up  this  gruelling  work  and  returned  to  his  old  home. 
The  experience  had  done  him  good. 


BUFFALO   BILL  309 

But  he  couldn't  stay  quiet  for  long.  Soon  after 
reaching  home  a  trapper  came  to  him,  saying: 

"Bill,  I  am  going  to  make  a  trapping  expedition 
up  the  Republican  River  and  I  need  a  companion  upon 
whom  I  can  rely.  We  are  sure  to  get  many  valuable 
furs,  and  beaver  are  thick  in  this  country.  Will  you 
come  with  me,  share  profits  and  share  expenses?" 

"You  bet  I  will,"  said  Cody,  and  in  a  week's  time 
he  was  outfitted  and  away  on  the  expedition  after 
valuable  furs. 

One  day  during  the  winter  the  two  trappers  spied 
a  herd  of  elk  and  started  in  pursuit  of  these  noble 
animals.  While  creeping  around  the  sharp  bend  in 
a  creek,  young  Cody  slipped  and  broke  his  leg  just 
above  the  ankle. 

"  You'll  soon  get  over  your  trouble,"  said  Trapper 
Harrington,  as  Billy  groaned  out  that  he  was  sure  to 
die.  "I'm  not  much  of  a  surgeon,  but  I  can  bind  up 
that  leg  of  yours  so  that  it  will  mend  in  a  short  time. 
I'll  take  you  back  to  our  dugout  on  my  back  and  let 
you  stay  there  quietly  until  you  get  thoroughly  well." 

After  setting  the  fractured  bones  in  the  little  hut 
which  the  two  trappers  had  made,  Harrington  said: 

"Bill,  our  two  oxen  have  died  and  we  need  either 
oxen  or  horses  to  take  out  our  furs  to  the  settlements. 
So  I'm  going  to  hit  the  trail  for  the  nearest  village  — 
one  hundred  and  twenty-five  miles  distant  —  to  obtain 
some  pack  animals  and  then  come  back  for  you.  I'll 
leave  you  plenty  to  eat.  You  can  live  here  in  comfort 
until  I  return."  That  night  he  went  on  his  journey. 
Snow  was  on  the  ground  and  he  left  plenty  of  wood 


310  FAMOUS    SCOUTS 

for  the  young  trapper.  "I'll  be  gone  about  twenty 
days,"  Harrington  said  on  leaving.  "Cheer  up  and  all 
will  be  well." 

On  the  twelfth  day  after  his  departure  the  injured 
trapper  was  lightly  sleeping  when  he  felt  some  one 
touch  him  sharply  on  the  shoulder.  He  awoke  with 
a  start,  and  looked  up  to  see  an  Indian  warrior  by  his 
side.  His  face  was  hideously  daubed  with  red  paint, 
so  it  was  plainly  evident  that  he  was  on  the  warpath. 

"Ugh!  Paleface!"  said  he.  "What  are  you  doing 
here?  How  many  are  there  with  you?" 

Young  Cody's  heart  sank  for,  as  the  redskin  spoke, 
the  dugout  became  filled  with  other  Indians.  He 
could  hear  the  voices  of  still  more  outside,  and  the 
stamping  of  horses. 

"I  am  alone,"  replied  Cody.  "My  leg  is  broken. 
I  am  a  cripple  and  defenseless." 

"Ugh!"  said  the  redskin,  and  as  he  spoke  an 
elderly  Indian  entered  the  cabin,  whom  Billy  easily 
recognized  as  old  Rain-in-the-face,  a  Sioux  chieftain 
who  lived  near  Fort  Laramie.  "How!"  said  Billy. 
"You  remember  me,  Chief?  I  came  often  to  your 
lodge  near  Fort  Laramie." 

The  chieftain  scowled  at  him,  and  then  made 
reply. 

"Paleface,  what  are  you  doing  here?  My  young 
men  are  on  the  warpath.  They  desire  the  blood  of 
all  of  your  race.  I  do  not  wish  to  see  you  die,  for  you 
are  a  papoose.  I  will  see  what  my  young  men  have  to 
say." 

Turning  to  his  warriors  he  then  held  a  long  conversa- 


BUFFALO   BILL  311 

tion  with  them.  At  the  end  of  this,  he  spoke  to  the 
terrified  young  trapper: 

"My  young  men  will  spare  you,"  said  he,  "for 
you  are  only  a  papoose.  But  they  wish  your  gun  and 
pistol." 

"Please  do  not  take  them,"  cried  Billy.  "After 
you  are  gone,  hungry  timber  wolves  will  come  down 
from  the  mountains.  If  I  have  nothing  to  defend 
myself  with  they  will  eat  me." 

"You  cannot  have  them,"  grunted  the  old  chief. 
"  My  young  men  need  your  fire  sticks.  You  must  keep 
quiet  or  they  will  hurt  you." 

So  young  Billy  said  nothing  more.  Meanwhile 
the  redskins  unsaddled  their  horses  and  remained  there 
all  through  the  day  and  night.  They  helped  them- 
selves to  the  provisions  of  the  trappers,  built  a  fire, 
and  had  a  big  feast.  When  they  left  next  morning 
they  took  all  the  sugar  and  coffee,  and  nearly  every- 
thing else,  leaving  behind  only  some  meat,  a  small 
quantity  of  flour,  a  little  salt,  and  some  baking  powder. 
"Oh,  but  I'm  glad  to  see  them  go,"  sighed  young  Cody 
as  they  made  off.  "Unless  I  had  happened  to  know 
old  Rain-in-the-face,  my  scalp  would  now  be  dangling 
to  the  end  of  one  of  their  spears." 

Soon  after  the  red  men  left  it  began  snowing  and 
the  dugout  was  completely  covered  up.  It  was  bitterly 
cold  and  there  was  little  food.  The  young  trapper 
was  in  danger  of  starvation,  but  he  kept  alive  for  twenty- 
nine  days  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  wolves  were 
pawing  and  scratching  around  the  hut  and  were  only 
driven  out  by  well-directed  streams  of  hot  water. 


312  FAMOUS    SCOUTS 

On  the  twenty-ninth  day  the  cheerful  sound  of 
Harrington's  voice  came  slowly  up  the  creek,  yelling 
"Whoa!  Haw!"  to  a  span  of  oxen,  newly  purchased. 
Soon  he  was  in  the  doorway. 

"Hello,  Billy,"  said  he,  "how  are  you?" 

"All  right,  Dave.  I've  had  a  tough  siege  of  it 
since  you've  been  away,  and  some  Indians  robbed  me 
of  my  guns,  ammunition,  and  most  of  my  food.  I 
began  to  think  that  you'd  never  get  here,  for  I  was 
afraid  that  you  had  been  snowed  under.  Thank  good- 
ness you  are  back." 

Harrington  soon  cleared  away  the  snow  and  came 
inside,  where  young  Cody  was  so  overcome  by  emotion 
that  he  flung  his  arms  around  his  neck  and  hugged  him 
for  fully  five  minutes. 

"Well,  Billy,  my  boy,"  cried  the  rescuer.  "I 
hardly  expected  to  see  you  alive  again.  I  had  a  terrible 
trip  of  it,  and  I  didn't  think  that  I  would  ever  get 
through.  I  was  caught  hi  a  snowstorm  and  laid  up 
for  five  days.  The  cattle  wandered  away  and  I  was 
within  an  ace  of  losing  them.  When  I  got  started 
again,  the  snow  was  so  deep  that  it  prevented  me  from 
making  much  headway.  But,  as  I  left  you  here,  I 
was  bound  to  come  through,  or  die  in  the  attempt." 

The  tears  of  joy  rolled  down  his  cheeks  as  young 
Cody  hugged  him  like  a  grizzly  bear. 

"Noble  fellow,"  said  he.  "You  risked  your  own 
life  to  save  mine.  I  will  never  forget  you." 

"I  think  it  remarkable  that  the  Indians  did  not 
kill  you,"  Harrington  replied.  "You  have  had  a  hard 
time  of  it.  But  we  will  soon  be  out  of  this  country. 


BUFFALO   BILL  313 

We  can  stand  it  now  until  the  snow  melts,  as  I  have 
plenty  of  food.  Then  we  will  pull  our  wagon  back 
to  the  settlements." 

This  they  did  and,  arriving  at  Fort  Leavenworth 
in  March,  1860,  the  team  was  sold  and  the  furs  netted 
a  handsome  profit.  For  many  months  the  young 
trapper  had  to  hobble  around  on  crutches  before  he 
entirely  recovered  the  use  of  his  leg. 

During  the  Civil  War  the  fearless  trapper  had  some 
valuable  experiences  as  a  "Red  Legged  Scout,"  an 
organized  body  of  riders  who  had  many  skirmishes 
in  Arkansas  and  southern  Missouri  with  "bush- 
whackers" and  independent  rangers.  He  saw  much 
service  and  did  good  work.  Just  after  the  close  of 
hostilities  he  was  scouting  near  Fort  Fletcher,  when 
General  Custer  came  out  to  go  upon  an  Indian  expedi- 
tion with  General  Hancock.  Scout  Cody  was  ordered 
to  guide  Custer  to  Fort  Larned, —  sixty-five  miles  across 
the  country. 

"Cody,  I  want  to  travel  quickly  and  go  through 
as  fast  as  possible,"  said  General  Custer  to  him,  look- 
ing carefully  at  a  long-legged  mule  which  he  was  rid- 
ing. "  I  don't  think  that  animal  of  yours  is  fast  enough 
to  suit  me." 

"General,"  replied  the  scout,  "never  mind  the 
mule.  He'll  get  there  as  soon  as  your  horses.  This 
mule  is  a  lolla-paloosa." 

Custer  laughed. 

"Very  well,"  said  he.  "Go  ahead,  then,  but  I 
guarantee  that  at  the  end  of  twenty  miles  you  will 
be  far  astern  of  us.  Forward.  March." 


314  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

For  the  first  fifteen  miles  Scout  Cody  could  hardly 
keep  the  mule  in  advance  of  the  general,  who  was 
mounted  upon  a  frisky,  impatient  and  ambitious  thor- 
oughbred horse;  in  fact,  all  of  his  men  had  fine  mounts. 

"That  mule  of  yours  is  no  good,"  chaffed  Ouster. 
"He's  a  back  number." 

Irritated  by  this,  the  scout  began  to  let  his  mule 
out  and  spurred  a  bit.  He  soon  had  outdistanced  all 
of  the  horses,  and  by  the  time  that  half  the  distance 
to  Fort  Larned  had  been  traversed,  occasionally  Scout 
Cody  had  to  wait  for  the  general  and  some  of  his  party, 
as  their  own  horses  had  begun  to  show  decided  signs 
of  weakening.  Cody  smiled  good-humoredly.  Finally, 
he  said: 

"General,  how  about  this  wornout  specimen  of 
a  mule,  anyway?" 

"Cody,  I  thought  that  you  had  a  no-count  mule," 
replied  Custer.  "But  I  be  switched  if  you  haven't 
got  a  human  locomotive.  That  mule's  as  good  as  the 
Union  Pacific  Express.  When  we  get  to  the  fort 
I'll  give  you  a  dinner."  And  he  did. 

Just  at  this  time  the  Kansas  Pacific  Railroad  was 
being  constructed  across  the  plains,  and  when  track 
laying  began  it  was  not  long  before  the  locomotives 
reached  the  heart  of  the  country  where  roamed  the 
vast  herds  of  buffalo.  To  build  this  roadbed  twelve 
hundred  men  were  engaged  and,  as  the  roving  Indians 
were  very  troublesome,  it  became  difficult  to  obtain 
a  supply  of  fresh  meat  with  which  to  supply  this  army 
of  workmen.  "We  must  have  hunters  to  kill  buffalo 
for  us,"  said  one  of  the  Goddard  Brothers,  who  had  a 


BUFFALO   BILL  315 

contract  for  boarding  the  employees.    "Who  would 
be  a  good  man?" 

"I  suggest  William  Cody/'  said  a  frontiersman. 
"He  is  a  young  fellow  who  is  a  good  rider  and  an  ex- 
cellent shot." 

So  one  day  the  scout  was  approached,  while  in 
Hays  City. 

"Will  you  become  hunter  for  us?"  he  was  asked 
by  the  elder  Goddard.  "We  will  require  twelve  buf- 
faloes a  day,  that  is,  twenty-four  hams,  as  we  need  only 
the  hump  and  the  hind  quarters." 

"This  will  be  dangerous  work,"  replied  the  scout. 
"I  will  be  obliged  to  go  from  five  to  ten  miles  a  day 
accompanied  by  only  one  man  with  a  light  wagon  to 
transport  the  meat  in.  I  can  only  do  it  for  a  large 
salary,  for  I  am  in  constant  danger  of  my  life  from  rov- 
ing redskins." 

"We  will  give  you  a  good  salary/'  Goddard  an- 
swered. "How  would  five  hundred  dollars  a  month 
suit  you?" 

"  I  will  go  for  that." 

"Then  consider  yourself  engaged." 

Thus  the  bold  and  daring  Cody  began  a  career  as 
buffalo  hunter  for  the  railroad.  During  his  engage- 
ment, a  period  of  about  a  year  and  two  months,  he 
killed  four  thousand  two  hundred  and  eighty  buffaloes 
and  had  many  exciting  adventures  with  hostile  red 
men.  He  was  nicknamed  Buffalo  Bill  by  the  road- 
hands  at  this  time,  and  this  name  stuck  to  him  through 
life.  He  says,  "I  have  never  been  ashamed  of  it," 
and  there  is  no  reasuu  why  he  should  be. 


316  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

As  the  famous  plainsman  started  upon  his  first  day's 
hunting,  he  turned  to  one  of  the  soldiers,  saying: 

"I  know  that  sooner  or  later  I  will  be  surrounded 
by  redskins.  In  case  your  pickets  notice,  at  any 
time,  that  smoke  is  arising  from  my  hunting  ground, 
it  means  that  I  am  in  great  danger.  Send  me  im- 
mediate assistance." 

"All  right,"  the  soldier,  who  was  a  captain,  replied. 
"We'll  always  keep  a  sharp  lookout  for  you.  We'll 
send  you  assistance  if  you  need  it." 

One  day  as  Buffalo  Bill  and  his  companion,  "  Scotty," 
were  returning  to  camp  with  a  load  of  meat,  and  were 
within  about  eight  miles  of  the  railroad,  suddenly  about 
thirty  redskins  came  riding  upon  them  from  a  ravine. 

The  two  hunters  had  often  talked  over  the  pos- 
sibilities of  a  surprise,  and  had  planned  how  to  defend 
themselves.  Jumping  to  the  ground,  they  threw  the 
buffalo  hams  upon  the  prairie,  and  piled  them  around 
the  wheels  in  such  a  manner  that  a  pretty  good  breast- 
work was  formed.  The  mules  were  unhitched  and  tied 
to  the  wagon  with  the  horse  of  the  famous  scout.  Then 
the  two  meji  crept  under  the  wagon,  seized  four  extra 
revolvers  which  they  always  carried  with  them,  and 
made  ready  for  business.  The  Indians  came  on,  whoop- 
ing wildly.  They  were  received  with  a  galling  fire 
which  dropped  three  of  them.  But  they  kept  riding 
around  in  a  circle,  firing  at  the  fortification,  and  suc- 
ceeded in  killing  the  horse  and  the  two  mules.  Finally 
they  drew  off  for  a  council  of  war. 

"I'm  going  to  signal  to  the  troops,"  cried  Buffalo 
Bill,  and,  drawing  his  match  box,  he  had  soon  set  fire 


BUFFALO   BILL  317 

to  the  long  prairie  grass.  The  fire  spread  rapidly  over 
the  plains,  causing  a  dense  smoke. 

"That  ought  to  bring  the  soldiers,"  said  "Scotty," 
"  but  the  redskins  have  still  got  some  fight  left  in  'em." 

As  he  spoke  a  rattling  volley  came  from  the  watch- 
ful Indians,  and  again  they  charged  the  fortification. 
They  were  driven  off  with  the  loss  of  one  man. 

In  about  an  hour  Buffalo  Bill  leaped  to  his  feet. 
"Hurray!"  he  cried.  "Here  come  the  soldiers.  We're 
saved!" 

Sure  enough,  the  signal  of  distress  had  proved  to 
be  all  right  and,  at  a  full  gallop,  a  group  of  cavalry- 
men came  briskly  over  the  plain.  The  redskins  saw 
them  at  the  same  instant  and,  quickly  mounting  their 
horses,  made  off  at  a  sharp  pace.  Two  hours  later  the 
hunters  were  in  camp  with  their  load  of  meat  stuck 
full  of  arrows,  and  with  fully  forty  bullet  holes  in  it. 
"This  meat  is  a  bit  hole-y,  but  it's  good,"  remarked 
Buffalo  Bill  loquaciously.  "As  it  has  been  blessed 
by  fire,  it  might  be  called  holy  meat,  eh?" 

Not  many  moons  later,  he  had  another  exciting 
experience. 

Mounted  on  his  favorite  horse,  Brigham,  a  buckskin 
animal  with  remarkable  endurance,  he  started  one  day 
in  the  spring  of  1868  for  Smoky  Hill  River.  After 
galloping  for  about  twenty  miles  he  reached  the  top 
of  a  small  hill  overlooking  the  valley  of  this  winding 
and  beautiful  stream.  "Beautiful,"  he  said  out  loud 
when  he  gazed  upon  the  crystal  water  and  verdant 
meadows  and,  as  he  uttered  the  word,  about  thirty 
redskins  leaped  into  view,  about  half  a  mile  distant. 


318  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

Without  waiting  a  second,  they  began  to  gallop  towards 
the  lonely  scout,  who  had  —  this  day  —  left  "Scotty" 
behind. 

"The  only  chance  that  I  have  in  the  world  is  to 
make  a  run  for  it,"  thought  the  buffalo  hunter,  and, 
turning  his  horse,  he  dug  the  spurs  into  him.  The  in- 
telligent Brigham  seemed  to  understand  what  was  up, 
and  struck  out  as  if  he  comprehended  that  he  was  soon 
to  be  engaged  in  a  race  for  the  life  of  his  master.  Un- 
fortunately, he  was  not  fresh,  as  he  had  come  a  long 
distance  that  day,  but  it  was  now  or  never  with  Buffalo 
Bill,  so  he  sat  tight  and  urged  the  faithful  animal  to 
do  his  very  best. 

The  Indians  began  to  gain  upon  the  fleeing  plains- 
man. After  three  miles  had  been  covered  about  nine 
of  the  red  warriors  were  not  over  two  hundred  yards 
behind  him,  and  five  or  six  of  these  seemed  to  be  shorten- 
ing the  gap  at  every  jump  of  their  fresh  little  ponies. 
One  of  the  horses  in  particular,  a  spotted  animal,  was 
getting  dangerously  close.  Brigham  was  doing  his  very 
best  but,  for  four  miles,  he  could  not  outdistance  the 
fleet  Indian  mustang.  His  rider,  armed  with  a  rifle, 
occasionally  sent  a  bullet  dangerously  near  the  ears 
of  Buffalo  Bill. 

"I've  got  to  check  this  fellow  or  he'll  shoot  Brig- 
ham  and  I'll  be  massacred,"  said  the  scout  out  loud, 
and  wheeling  around,  he  raised  his  rifle  to  his  shoulder. 
The  redskin  on  the  spotted  pony  was  about  eighty 
yards  (two  hundred  and  forty  feet)  away  and,  as  the 
scout's  rifle  cracked  down  fell  the,  racing  horse,  while  his 
rider  took  a  double  somersault  over  his  head.  Not 


BUFFALO   BILL  319 

waiting  to  see  whether  he  recovered  or  not,  Buffalo 
Bill  again  turned  Brigham/s  nose  towards  the  railroad, 
and  was  off  again. 

The  scout  had  determined  —  if  the  worst  came  to 
the  worst  —  to  drop  into  an  old  buffalo  wallow  for 
protection,  and  make  a  desperate  battle  for  his  life. 
The  redskins  had  gained  upon  him  while  he  was  occupied 
in  shooting  at  their  leader,  and  every  now  and  again 
they  would  send  a  bullet  past  the  head  of  the  white 
fugitive.  Occasionally  the  scout  would  wheel  in  the 
saddle  and  return  the  compliment  and,  by  great  good 
luck,  he  struck  one  of  the  horses,  broke  its  leg,  and  thus 
put  another  Indian  out  of  the  race.  On,  on  went 
pursuer  and  pursued,  but  now  they  neared  the  outpost 
near  the  end  of  the  railroad,  where  two  companies  of 
soldiers  were  stationed  in  order  to  protect  the  work- 
men from  the  redskins.  Buffalo  Bill's  breath  came 
with  more  freedom.  He  saw  that  his  desperate  ride 
for  life  was  about  over. 

As  the  red  men  and  white  frontiersman  raced  across 
the  plain,  one  of  the  outposts  saw  the  fugitive  and 
Indians  and  gave  the  alarm.  It  was  thus  not  many 
moments  before  several  cavalrymen  were  galloping 
across  the  plains  to  rescue  their  hunter  of  the  buffalo. 
As  soon  as  the  Indians  saw  them  coming  they  decided 
that  it  was  better  for  them  to  withdraw,  so  wheeled 
about  and  made  off  in  the  direction  from  which  they 
had  come. 

In  a  few  moments  Buffalo  Bill  was  in  the  camp. 
Jumping  from  Brigham's  back  and  pulling  the  blanket 
and  saddle  from  his  back,  he  said: 


320  FAMOUS    SCOUTS 

"Boys!  This  is  the  finest  horse  that  ever  drew 
breath.  He  has  just  saved  my  life!  Nothing  is  too 
good  for  him  for  he  has  outrun  thirty  redskins." 

At  once  the  soldiers  took  charge  of  the  horse,  led 
him  around,  and  rubbed  him  so  vigorously  that  it 
seemed  as  if  they  would  rub  him  to  death.  "Bully, 
old  boy,"  they  kept  repeating.  "You're  the  finest 
animal  on  the  prairie." 

"  Don't  you  want  a  fresh  horse  so's  to  chase  the  red 
men?"  cried  Captain  Nolan  of  the  Tenth  Cavalry, 
who  was  just  starting  out  after  the  disappearing  Indians. 
"Take  any  cavalry  horse  that  you  wish." 

Buffalo  Bill  nodded  and,  in  a  very  few  moments, 
had  his  own  saddle  and  bridle  upon  a  government 
animal.  The  horses  were  all  fresh.  After  galloping 
after  the  Indians  with  fully  a  hundred  cavalrymen, 
it  was  soon  evident  to  the  scout  that  they  would  catch 
some  of  the  marauders.  Before  five  miles  had  been 
covered  eight  redskins  had  been  overtaken  and  killed. 
The  rest  succeeded  in  getting  away. 

"On  coming  up  to  the  place  where  I  had  killed 
the  first  horse  —  the  spotted  one  —  "  says  Buffalo 
Bill,  "I  found  that  my  bullet  had  struck  him  in  the 
forehead  and  killed  him  instantly.  He  was  a  noble 
animal  and  ought  to  have  been  engaged  in  better 
business. 

"When  we  got  back  to  camp  I  found  old  Brigham 
grazing  quietly  and  contentedly  on  the  grass.  He 
looked  up  at  me  as  if  to  ask  if  we  had  got  away  with 
any  of  those  fellows  who  had  chased  us.  I  believe 
be  read  the  answer  in  my  eyes." 


BUFFALO   BILL  321 

This  time  the  scout  escaped  but,  not  long  after- 
wards, he  was  captured  and  had  a  pretty  severe  ex- 
perience with  Satanta,  the  Kiowa  chieftain  whom 
General  Ouster  subsequently  defeated  at  the  Battle  of 
the  Wichita.* 

One  day  when  alone,  and  en  route  for  Fort  Lamed 
from  Fort  Zarah,  in  western  Kansas,  Buffalo  Bill  was 
nearing  Pawnee  Rock,  a  large  promontory  which  rises 
high  above  the  plains.  Suddenly  about  forty  redskins 
came  riding  towards  him,  crying  "How!  How!"  and 
extending  their  hands.  As  the  scout  looked  at  them, 
he  saw  that  they  were  some  Indians  that  he  had  seen 
that  morning  at  Fort  Larned,  but  as  their  faces  were 
smeared  with  red  paint  it  was  plainly  evident  that 
they  were  now  upon  the  warpath. 

Not  wishing  to  offend  the  red  men,  the  scout  held 
out  his  hand  to  one  of  them.  The  redskin  grasped  it 
with  a  tight  grip,  jerking  the  rider  forward  with  great 
violence.  A  second  Indian  grabbed  the  mule  by  the 
bridle;  a  third  seized  his  rifle  and  revolvers;  a  fourth 
struck  him  upon  the  head  with  his  tomahawk,  which 
nearly  knocked  him  unconscious.  "You  come  along 
with  us,"  cried  the  redskin  who  had  seized  him  by  the 
hand.  "  We  got  use  for  you.  Ugh!  Your  hair  long  — 
it  make  good  scalp!" 

An  Indian  who  had  hold  of  the  bridle  started 
off  towards  the  Arkansas  River,  leading  Buffalo  Bill's 
mule,  which  was  lashed  by  the  other  redskins  in  the 
rear,  all  of  whom  were  laughing,  singing,  shooting, 
and  screeching  like  coyotes.  As  they  rode  onward  the 

*See  "Famous  Cavalry  Leaders." 


322  FAMOUS    SCOUTS 

scout  saw  an  enormous  Indian  village  being  moved  down 
the  bank  of  the  Arkansas  and  he  became  convinced 
that  the  Indians  had  left  the  post  and  had  gone  upon 
the  warpath.  Bill's  captors  waded  through  the  stream 
with  him  and,  as  they  did  so,  not  only  lashed  his  mule, 
but  also  himself.  After  trotting  into  the  village,  they 
took  him  before  an  important-looking  body  of  red  men, 
among  whotn  was  crafty  old  Satanta. 

The  Indians  were  jabbering  away  among  themselves 
so  that  Buffalo  Bill  could  not  understand  what  they 
were  saying.  Suddenly  Satanta  cried  out, 

"  Paleface,  where  have  you  been?" 

"I've  been  after  a  herd  of  whoa-haws  [cattle]/' 
replied  the  astute  plainsman,  for  it  so  happened  that 
the  redskins  had  been  out  of  meat  for  several  weeks, 
as  a  large  herd  of  cattle  promised  them  by  the  govern- 
ment had  not  yet  arrived,  although  expected  by  Satan- 
ta's  band.  So  the  moment  that  the  "whoa-haws"  were 
mentioned,  the  old  chief's  face  lighted  up  with  pleasure, 
and  he  said, 

"Ugh!  Ugh!  That  is  good  news.  We  wish  the 
whoa-haws.  Can  Paleface  tell  me  where  they  are?" 

"Certainly,  Chief,"  replied  the  crafty  Buffalo  Bill. 
r<  I  have  been  sent  by  General  Hazen  to  inform  you  that 
the  whoa-haws  were  on  the  road  to  feed  your  band. 
They  are  only  back  from  here  a  few  miles." 

Satanta  smiled  broadly.  "Are  there  any  long- 
swords  [soldiers]  with  the  herd?"  said  he. 

"  There  are  many  long-swords,"  Buffalo  Bill  answered. 

Thereupon  the  chiefs  held  a  consultation,  at  the  end 
of  which  old  Satanta  asked, 


BUFFALO    BILL  323 

"Is  it  really  true  that  the  big  white  chief  (General 
Hazen)  has  said  that  I  am  to  have  the  cattle?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  scout.  "I  have  been  sent  to  tell 
you  so.  And  why,  pray,  do  your  young  men  treat 
me  this  way?  Is  that  any  way  to  use  the  ambassador 
of  the  big  white  chief?" 

Satanta  was  a  veteran  liar  and  he  kept  up  his  rep- 
utation right  well. 

"That's  only  a  game  of  my  young  men,  my  boy," 
said  he.  "My  young  fellows  wished  to  see  whether  or 
not  you  were  brave.  They  tried  to  frighten  the  long- 
hair to  see  if  he  had  the  courage  of  a  warrior.  Ugh! 
Ugh!  You  did  well." 

Buffalo  Bill  swallowed  this  story  with  a  smiling 
face.  "Very  good,"  he  answered.  "But  it  certainly 
is  a  rough  way  to  treat  friends." 

"Give  back  the  shooting  sticks  to  Long-hair," 
thundered  the  wily  chieftain.  "Can  you  go  and  bring 
the  cattle  down  to  the  river  so  that  my  people  can  get 
them?" 

"Of  course,"  cheerfully  lied  Buffalo  Bill,  who  was 
beating  the  champion  prevaricator  at  his  own  game. 
"That  is  what  the  big  white  chief  has  told  me  to  do. 
But  I  do  not  wish  any  of  your  young  braves  to  come 
with  me,  for  it  would  mean  that  the  long-swords  would 
ride  on  with  me  and  there  might  be  trouble  with  those 
warriors  who  have  been  striking  me.  If  I  go  alone 
I  will  tell  the  long-swords  to  keep  right  on  to  Fort  Larned 
and  then  there  will  be  no  trouble." 
"You  can  go,"  said  the  old  chief. 
Buffalo  Bill  did  not  wait  for  another  order,  and, 


324  FAMOUS  SCOUTS 

wheeling  his  mule  around,  was  soon  recrossing  the  river. 
Just  as  he  reached  the  opposite  bank,  he  looked  back 
and  saw  that  ten  or  fifteen  Indians  were  following  him. 
They  apparently  suspected  that  he  had  not  been  telling 
the  truth  and  wished  to  keep  an  eye  on  the  paleface, 
until  the  phantom  cattle  were  delivered. 

The  moment  that  his  mule  had  secured  a  good 
foothold  upon  the  bank,  Buffalo  Bill  urged  him  at 
a  gentle  lope  to  the  place  where  he  had  told  Satanta 
that  he  would  bring  the  whoa-haws.  Upon  reaching 
a  ridge  and  riding  down  upon  the  other  side,  where 
he  was  hidden  from  the  eyes  of  the  red  men,  he  turned 
his  mule's  head  towards  Fort  Lamed;  let  him  out  for 
all  that  he  was  worth;  and  sat  down  for  a  desperate 
ride  for  his  life.  The  redskins  soon  saw  him,  and, 
whipping  their  ponies,  started  in  pursuit. 

In  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  fleeing  plainsman  plied 
both  spur  and  whip,  the  Indians  gained  on  him.  When 
Buffalo  Bill  reached  the  dividing  ridge  between  Ash 
Creek  and  Pawnee  Fork,  with  Fort  Larned  only  four 
miles  away,  the  red  men  were  only  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
behind,  but,  as  he  reached  the  other  side  of  the  stream, 
he  was  overjoyed  to  see  some  soldiers  in  a  government 
wagon. 

"Hold  on,"  cried  the  fleeing  scout.  "The  Indians 
are  after  me.  Dash  into  yonder  woods  and  we'll 
shoot  the  whole  outfit,  for  there  are  only  about  a 
dozen." 

"All  right,"  answered  Denver  Jim  —  a  well-known 
scout  —  who  was  with  the  wagoners.  "Here,  boys! 
scramble  into  that  thicket  over  there." 


BUFFALO    BILL  325 

The  team  was  hurriedly  secreted  among  some  trees 
and  low  boxwood  bushes. 

In  a  few  moments  the  Indians  came  dashing  up, 
lashing  their  horses  with  sticks,  for  the  tired  animals 
were  panting  and  blowing.  Three  or  four  were  allowed 
to  go  by,  and  then  a  lively  rifle  fire  was  opened  upon  the 
next  three  or  four,  two  being  killed  at  the  first  crack. 
The  others  suddenly  discovered  that  they  had  run  into 
an  ambush  and,  whirling  off  into  the  thicket,  turned 
and  ran  their  horses  back  from  the  direction  in  which 
they  had  come.  The  two  that  had  passed  heard  the 
shots,  and  escaped, —  as  the  men  hurriedly  secured 
the  ornaments  and  horses  of  the  fallen  red  men  and  beat 
a  hasty  retreat  to  the  fort.  The  soldiers  there  had 
heard  the  firing  and,  believing  that  Satanta  was  coming 
with  his  red  men,  the  buglers  were  blowing  the  call 
to  fall  in.  Thus  ended  this  thrilling  ride. 

These  Satanta  red  men  were  reduced  to  subjection, 
shortly  afterwards,  but  the  Sioux  rebelled  and  took 
up  the  warpath  instead  of  the  ways  of  peace.  Buffalo 
Bill  joined  a  large  infantry  column  under  General 
Carr,  sent  to  punish  these  marauders  which  started  out 
for  the  Republican  River  where  the  Indians  were 
supposed  to  be  in  great  force.  They  had  no  difficulty 
in  finding  them.  The  soldiers  were  reinforced  by  a 
number  of  Pawnee  Indian  scouts  and  these  redskins 
did  most  excellent  service,  for  they  hated  the  warlike 
Sioux  and  were  always  ready  to  go  into  battle  against 
them. 

Not  many  days  after  they  had  been  on  the  trail, 
the  Pawnees  came  into  camp  on  the  dead  run.  As  they 


326  FAMOUS    SCOUTS 

raced  across  the  prairie,  Buffalo  Bill  stepped  up  to 
General  Carr,  saying, 

"General,  here  come  our  men  and  they  have  had 
a  big  fight.  I  know  it,  for  this  is  the  way  they  always 
come  into  camp  after  they  have  had  a  tough  scrimmage 
and  have  taken  a  lot  of  scalps." 

The  general  told  his  trusty  scout  to  ride  out  to  meet 
them. 

"How!  How!"  said  Buffalo  Bill.  "What  have 
you  been  doing?" 

"  See  heap  Sioux,"  cried  one  of  the  Pawnees.  "  Have 
big  fight.  We  kill  three.  They  kill  four  of  our  men. 
Have  one  big  fight,  sure!" 

When  General  Carr  heard  the  news,  he  immediately 
prepared  for  active  measures. 

"Select  all  the  good  horses.  Mount  your  men  on 
them  and  push  after  the  red  men,"  he  cried.  "The 
wagon  train  will  follow  with  the  rest  of  the  party. 
Buffalo  Bill,  I  want  you  to  pick  out  five  or  six  of  the 
best  Pawnees  and  go  in  advance  of  my  command, 
keeping  ten  or  twelve  miles  ahead  on  the  trail,  so  that 
when  you  find  the  Indians,  you  can  discover  the  loca- 
tion of  their  camp  and  send  word  to  my  troops  in  order 
that  I  may  arrange  a  plan  for  the  capture  of  the  village." 

"  All  right,"  Buffalo  Bill  replied.  "  I  shall  do  as  you 
say  and  we  shall,  no  doubt,  have  a  lively  little  battle." 

It  was  not  long  before  he  was  well  ahead  of  the 
column  and,  moving  very  cautiously,  he  and  his  Paw- 
nee companions  soon  discovered  the  Indian  village 
encamped  in  the  sand  hills  south  of  the  South  Platte 
River,  near  Summit  Springs. 


BUFFALO   BILL  327 

"You  keep  watch  here,"  said  Buffalo  Bill  to  the 
Pawnees,  "while  I  go  back  and  tell  the  big  chief 
that  the  red  men  are  in  view.  We'll  have  one  smart 
little  fight  before  another  sun,  and  it  will  be  good  fun 
for  all  concerned." 

When  the  presence  of  the  Sioux  was  reported  to 
General  Carr,  he  immediately  ordered  his  men  to  tighten 
up  saddles,  look  to  their  ammunition,  and  prepare  for 
action. 

"I  advise  you  to  circle  around  to  the  north  of  the 
camp,  sir,"  said  Buffalo  Bill  to  the  general.  "The 
Sioux  will  have  scouts  on  this  side  of  their  camp,  be- 
cause any  one  who  is  following  them  will  come  from 
this  direction.  I  am  going  to  change  my  horse  for  old 
Buckskin  Joe,  as  he  is  fresh,  and  I  may  have  to  do  a 
lot  of  hard  riding." 

"I'll  follow  your  advice,  Bill,"  replied  the  general. 
"We'll  bear  far  around  in  a  circle  and  fall  upon  the 
Sioux  from  the  side  opposite  the  one  from  which  we 
are  travelling." 

By  this  manoeuvre  the  command  avoided  discovery 
by  the  Sioux  scouts,  and,  when  within  a  mile  of  the 
red  men,  the  general  halted  the  command,  saying 
that,  when  he  sounded  the  charge,  the  whole  body 
should  rush  upon  the  Indian  camp. 

As  the  soldiers  paused  on  top  of  a  hill  overlooking 
the  camp  of  the  unsuspecting  Sioux  warriors  —  with 
their  women,  ponies,  baggage  and  children  —  General 
Carr  called  out  to  his  buglers,  "Sound  the  charge!" 

The  bugler  was  so  excited  that  he  actually  forgot 
the  notes. 


328  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

Again  cried  the  general,  "Sound  the  charge!" 

The  bugler  was  unable  to  blow  a  single  blast. 

At  this  moment  Quartermaster  Hays  —  who  was 
riding  near  the  general  —  comprehended  the  dilemma 
which  the  man  was  in,  and,  galloping  up  to  him,  jerked 
the  bugle  from  his  hand,  and  sounded  the  charge  in 
clear  and  distinct  notes.  As  the  troops  rushed  for- 
ward, he  threw  the  bugle  away,  then  —  drawing  his 
pistol  —  was  among  the  first  to  gallop  into  the  Indian 
village. 

When  the  Sioux  saw  the  charging  soldiers,  pan- 
demonium broke  loose  among  them.  A  great  many, 
jumping  on  their  ponies,  rushed  out  of  the  village  on 
the  gallop,  leaving  everything  behind.  Those  who 
were  on  foot  fled  to  the  neighboring  hills.  The  Pawnee 
scouts,  regular  soldiers  and  officers,  were  all  mixed  up 
together  in  the  village,  while  a  few  Sioux  warriors, 
and  some  of  the  women,  blazed  away  at  them  from 
their  tepees.  The  village  was  soon  captured  and  the 
troopers  pursued  the  stampeded  redskins  over  the 
plains,  where  they  had  scattered  like  a  flock  of  young 
prairie  chickens.  When  darkness  came,  the  tired 
soldiers  returned  to  the  camp,  much  elated  at  their 
easy  victory. 

"The  command  must  separate  into  individual 
companies  in  order  to  follow  the  redskins,"  said  General 
Carr.  "Buffalo  Bill,  I  want  you  to  join  one  of  these 
and  push  towards  the  northwest." 

At  "boots  and  saddles,"  next  morn,  the  scout 
started  out  with  a  company  which  followed  a  trail 
of  about  a  hundred  Indians.  It  was  soon  evident, 


BUFFALO   BILL  329 

from  the  tracks  of  ponies  and  men,  that  another  large 
band  had  joined  the  first. 

"It's  pretty  hazardous  to  follow  these  redskins," 
said  Buffalo  Bill.  "They  outnumber  us  and  there'll 
be  trouble.  We  may  be  badly  beaten." 

But  there  were  many  brave  —  if  not  foolhardy 
—  men  in  the  company,  and  his  good  counsel  was 
thrown  aside.  All  insisted  upon  pressing  forward. 

On  the  third  day  afterwards,  a  party  of  about  six 
hundred  Sioux  was  discovered,  riding  along  in  close 
ranks,  near  the  Platte  River.  When  the  Indians 
caught  sight  of  the  soldiers,  they  immediately  prepared 
for  battle. 

"These  redskins  far  outnumber  us,"  said  the 
company  commander.  "Let  us  take  advantageous 
ground  and  stand  'em  off.  If  we  charge  into  that 
bunch,  we'll  be  annihilated." 

Not  many  moments  after  he  had  spoken,  the  red 
men  came  on,  and  the  soldiers  retreated  slowly  but 
surely  into  a  little  ravine  where  they  hid  their  horses 
in  a  natural  pit.  The  Indians  circled  about  in  order 
to  find  out  the  true  strength  of  the  command,  and 
then,  seeing  that  these  were  very  few,  they  charged 
desperately.  Crash!  Crash!  sounded  the  volleys  from 
the  soldiers,  and,  although  several  of  them  were 
badly  wounded  by  arrows,  the  red  men  were  driven 
away. 

But  they  weren't  driven  off  for  good.  At  their 
council  of  war  an  old  chief  said: 

"We  got  the  palefaces.  Let  us  stay  until  we  get 
their  scalps.  They  have  killed  twenty  of  our  warriors. 


330  FAMOUS   SCOUTS 

We  will  starve  them  out.  We  are  many.  They  are 
few."  This  counsel  was  considered  to  be  "good  medi- 
cine," and  it  was  decided  to  starve  out  the  whites;  so 
the  redskins  began  to  ride  around  the  white  men  in  a 
circle,  just  out  of  rifle  range. 

As  they  rode  slowly  by,  Buffalo  Bill  saw  a  magnif- 
icent-looking chief,  riding  a  piebald  pony  and  smeared 
with  red  and  yellow  paint.  A  beautiful  headdress 
of  eagle  feathers  was  upon  his  black  locks,  while  a 
dangling  quiver,  full  of  arrows,  hung  by  a  deer  thong 
from  his  back.  He  had  a  rifle  and  cartridge  belt, 
both  of  which  he  had,  no  doubt,  stolen  from  some 
government  post. 

"Boys!"  said  the  scout.  "You  wait  here  a  moment 
and  watch  me  try  to  get  a  shot  at  that  chief.  I  believe 
that  I  can  bring  him  down." 

"You  can't  touch  him,"  said  several,  laughing 
satirically. 

Buffalo  Bill  did  not  reply,  but,  creeping  stealthily 
up  a  little  gorge,  hid  himself  from  the  eyes  of  the  In- 
dians and  stopped  at  a  point  where  he  believed  that 
he  could  get  a  clear  shot  at  the  Indian  when  he  again 
rode  by.  Soon  the  painted  chieftain  came  loping 
his  pony  through  the  tall  prairie  grass,  and,  just  as  he 
brought  his  mount  to  a  walk,  in  order  to  cross  the  very 
ravine  in  which  the  scout  was  crouching,  Buffalo  Bill 
rose  to  his  knees,  took  careful  aim,  and  fired. 

His  aim  was  perfect.  With  a  wild,  despairing  yell, 
the  chief  tumbled  to  the  sod,  shot  clean  through  the 
body,  while  his  horse*  galloped  towards  the  soldiers; 
one  of  whom  caught  hold  of  the  long  deer-thong  lariat 


BUFFALO    BILL  331 

in  his  mouth,  and  thus  captured  him.  It  was  a  shot 
of  four  hundred  yards, —  truly  a  remarkable  one. 
Was  it  a  wonder,  then,  that  as  the  accurate  marksman 
returned  to  the  command,  a  cheer  went  up  for  "  Buffalo 
Bill,  the  best  shot  on  the  plains!  Hip!  Hip!  Hurray!" 

Strange  to  relate,  the  death  of  this  chieftain  so 
affected  the  Indians  that  they  retreated  without  making 
another  charge  upon  the  soldiers.  It  was  Tall  Bull, 
one  of  the  most  cunning  and  able  of  the  Sioux  leaders, 
and  a  redskin  who  had  great  influence  among  the  wild 
riders  of  the  plains. 

Not  many  days  afterwards,  this  company  joined 
General  Carr's  command,  and  a  stiff  fight  was  had 
with  the  Sioux,  which  ended  successfully.  Three 
hundred  red  warriors,  several  hundred  squaws,  and  a 
great  herd  of  ponies,  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  whites, 
and,  among  the  women,  was  the  stout  but  pretty  widow 
of  Tall  Bull. 

When  this  lady  saw  Buffalo  Bill,  her  black  eyes 
sparkled,  not  with  anger,  but  with  pleasure. 

"Him  great  man.  Him  Prairie  Chief.  I  love 
Prairie  Chief,"  she  cried.  "Him  send  my  husband 
Tall  Bull  to  the  land  of  the  Hereafter.  Him  one  big 
chief!" 

Strange  as  it  may  seem,  the  conquered  chieftainess 
considered  the  slayer  of  her  husband  to  be  a  great 
warrior,  for  he  had  vanquished  the  ablest  fighter  among 
all  the  Sioux.  In  fact,  she  wished  to  marry  the  gallant 
scout,  but  he  successfully  eluded  her.  For  many  years 
afterwards  the  famous  marksman  was  known  among 
all  the  northern  Indians  by  the  name  which  this  en- 


332  FAMOUS    SCOUTS 

amored  lady  had  given  him  —  the  Prairie  Chief  — 
and  it  stuck  to  him  for  many  years. 

One  other  duel  of  Buffalo  Bill's  is  worthy  of  mention, 
for  it  increased  his  already  brilliant  reputation  as  a 
marksman  of  wonderful  ability. 

After  the  great  Ouster  massacre,  which  I  have  fully 
described  in  "  Famous  Cavalry  Leaders,"  the  so-called 
Prairie  Chief  was  ordered  to  join  General  Merritt, 
who  —  with  five  hundred  men  and  horses  —  was  mak- 
ing a  forced  march  to  War  Bonnet  Creek,  in  order 
to  intercept  a  number  of  Cheyennes  —  allies  of  the 
Sioux  —  who  had  broken  from  the  Red  Cloud  Agency 
and  had  gone  on  the  warpath. 

One  beautifully  clear  morning  Buffalo  Bill  went 
out  on  a  scout  in  order  to  see  if  the  command  was  any- 
where near  the  redskins.  As  he  was  crossing  a  rough 
tableland,  a  cloud  of  dust,  away  off  upon  the  prairie, 
warned  him  that  Indians,  or  soldiers,  were  near  by. 
Through  his  glass  he  saw  that  there  were  red  warriors 
ahead,  and  putting  spurs  to  his  horse,  was  soon  back 
by  the  side  of  General  Merritt. 

"Indians  are  coming,"  said  he.  "They  are  only 
about  ten  minutes  away.  Get  ready,  for  there's  going 
to  be  a  big  fight." 

"Mount!"  ordered  General  Merritt,  and,  as  the 
soldiers  sprang  upon  the  backs  of  their  steeds,  they 
were  told  to  keep  out  of  sight.  The  general  and  Buffalo 
Bill  rode  to  a  neighboring  hilltop. 

"Those  redskins  are  coming  right  towards  us," 
said  the  scout.  "Hello!  They're  after  two  mounted 
soldiers,  evidently  with  dispatches  for  us.  See,  about 


BUFFALO  BILL  333 

twenty   of    them   have    pushed    off    to    the    right!" 

The  Indians  were  plainly  endeavoring  to  intercept 
the  two  dispatch  bearers. 

"I  want  to  save  those  two  fellows,"  said  he,  "but 
I  don't  want  to  send  out  any  of  my  soldiers,  for,  if  the 
Cheyennes  see  them,  they'll  stampede,  and  I  won't 
be  able  to  have  a  fight." 

"Wait  until  the  two  couriers  get  nearer,"  answered 
Buffalo  Bill,  "arid  then,  just  as  the  Cheyennes  are 
closing  in  on  them,  I'll  take  the  scouts  and  cut  these 
twenty  redskins  off  from  the  main  body." 

"All  right,  Cody,"  said  the  general.  "If  you  can 
do  that,  go  ahead  and  good  luck  to  you." 

Buffalo  Bill  ran  quickly  to  the  command;  jumped 
upon  his  horse;  picked  out  fifteen  scouts,  and  returned 
with  them,  to  the  point  of  observation,  where  General 
Merritt  was  watching  the  exciting  race  through  his 
glasses.  Finally,  he  lowered  them,  crying  out, 

"Go  in  now,  Cody,  and  be  quick  about  it!  The 
Indians  are  going  to  charge  upon  the  couriers." 

Instantly,  Buffalo  Bill  dashed  over  the  bluff,  fol- 
lowed by  the  scouts,  who  urged  their  horses  forward 
at  a  sharp  gallop.  The  two  messengers  were  only 
a  short  distance  away,  while  the  pursuing  Cheyennes 
were  about  two  hundred  yards  behind  them.  As  the 
scouts  charged,  they  opened  fire. 

The  Cheyennes  fired  back  with  much  spirit,  and 
a  running  fight  was  kept  up  for  several  minutes,  the 
Indians  retreating  all  the  while,  leaving  three  of  their 
number  on  the  plain.  General  Merritt  was  about 
half  a  mile  away  watching  the  skirmish  through  his 


334  FAMOUS    SCOUTS 

field  glasses,  and  he  saw  the  little  band  of  redskins 
turn  and  put  up  an  excellent  fight. 

At  this  moment,  one  of  the  Cheyennes,  who  wore 
all  the  ornaments  of  a  chieftain,  including  the  white 
eagle  feathers  in  his  hair,  cried  out  to  Buffalo  Bill,  in 
his  own  language, 

"I  know  you,  Pa-he-haska.  If  you  want  to  fight, 
come  on  ahead  and  fight  me!" 

"I'll  be  only  too  glad  to  accommodate  you,"  called 
the  scout,  as  the  chief  rode  his  horse  back  and  forth 
in  front  of  him. 

The  two  enemies  now  galloped  towards  each  other 
at  full  speed.  When  they  were  about  thirty  yards 
apart,  Buffalo  Bill  raised  his  rifle  and  fired.  As  the 
smoke  from  his  rifle  rolled  upward,  the  horse  which 
the  red  man  was  riding  fell  to  the  ground, —  shot  stone 
dead.  At  the  same  instant  the  steed  of  the  intrepid 
frontiersman  stepped  into  a  gopher  hole  and  went  to 
earth,  throwing  his  rider  over  his  head.  But  the  scout 
was  not  injured,  and,  jumping  to  his  feet  with  the 
agility  of  a  cat,  again  fired  at  the  chieftain,  just  as  the 
painted  warrior  raised  his  own  rifle. 

Crack!  sounded  that  death-dealing  weapon  of  Buf- 
falo Bill's. 

Crack!  spoke  the  "thunder-stick"  of  the  redskin, 
and  a  bullet  whizzed  by  the  ear  of  the  buckskin-clad 
man  of  the  plains. 

The  leaden  missile  from  the  carefully  aimed  rifle 
of  the  scout  did  not  miss.  Screaming  with  anguish,  the 
redskin  reeled  and  fell,  while  the  spouting  blood  crim- 
soned his  beautifully  tanned  shirt.  With  a  dull  thud 


BUFFALO   BILL  335 

he  touched  the  earth. —  In  a  second,  the  scout  was  bend- 
ing over  him. —  A  dexterous  twist, —  he  had  drawn 
his  knife  and  raised  both  scalp  and  war  bonnet  from 
the  head  of  the  prostrate  warrior. 

As  the  redskin  friends  of  the  fallen  chieftain  began 
to  gallop  towards  him,  General  Merritt  realized  the 
danger  that  Buffalo  Bill  was  now  in,  and  cried  out, 

"Company  K,  ride  to  the  rescue  of  Buffalo  Bill 
and  ride  like  the  Old  Nick,  for  he'll  be  captured  if  you 
don't  reach  him  in  a  few  minutes." 

With  a  cheer,  the  troopers  galloped  towards  the 
lone  plainsman,  and  they  reached  him  none  too  soon, 
for  the  red  men  were  all  around  him.  As  they  swung 
into  view,  the  fearless  fighter  waved  the  topknot  and 
war  bonnet  of  the  dead  redskin  in  the  air,  shouting: 

"  The  first  scalp  for  Custer!" 

The  words  had  scarcely  left  his  lips  when  General 
Merritt  ordered  the  entire  regiment  to  charge  upon  the 
oncoming  lines  of  Indians.  The  battle  opened  in 
earnest.  Bullets  flew;  wild  war-whoops  rang  out,  and 
several  warriors  fell  to  the  ground  in  their  last  sleep. 
For  a  time  the  red  men  kept  up  a  stubborn  fight,  and 
then  —  seeing  that  they  could  not  defeat  the  celebrated 
Fifth  Cavalry  —  the  braves  began  a  running  retreat 
towards  the  Red  Cloud  Agency,  from  which  they  had 
recently  escaped.  For  thirty-five  miles  the  cavalry- 
men pursued  them,  pushing  them  so  hard  that  they 
were  forced  to  abandon  their  loose  horses,  camp  equi- 
page and  other  belongings.  Finally,  they  were  driven 
into  the  agency,  and  the  great  fight  of  the  War  Bonnet 
was  a  thing  of  the  past. 


336  FAMOUS    SCOUTS 

To  chronicle  all  of  the  great  buffalo  hunts,  Indian 
battles,  rides  after  horse  thieves  and  robbers,  and 
dangerous  scouting  expeditions  in  which  this  famous 
plainsman  was  subsequently  engaged,  would  take  an 
enormous  volume.  As  you  know,  he  came  through 
all  these  hazardous  adventures  unscathed,  and  has 
lived  to  be  a  celebrated  show-man  and  exhibitor  of 
the  once  rough  and  reckless  wild  life  of  the  American 
plains. 

At  the  present  time  of  writing  —  August,  1910  — 
he  is  touring  the  country  (as  he  says)  for  the  last  time, 
with  the  famous  Wild  West  Show.  May  he  continue 
to  enjoy  the  greatest  health  and  good  spirits,  and  may 
the  plaudits  of  an  appreciative  multitude  continue 
to  resound  in  the  ears  of  the  great  plainsman;  for  Buffalo 
Bill  has  been  the  best  known  of  all  the  daring  scouts 
upon  the  American  plains;  his  heart  has  always  been 
warm,  and  his  aim  has  ever  been  true.  Good  luck  and 
smiling  good  fortune  be  with  you  ever,  Buffalo  Bill, 
hero  of  a  hundred  battles  and  true  monarch  of  the 
great  American  prairie. 


CONCLUSION 

WE  have  now  learned  about  all  of  the  famous 
pioneers  and  men  of  the  plains,  the  back- 
woods, the  prairie  and  the  mountains,  who 
have  made  names  for  themselves  in  the  development  of 
the  North  American  continent.  Undoubtedly  famous 
scouts  have  existed  in  South  Africa,  Australia  and  the 
Canadian  wilds,  but  it  has  been  impossible  for  me  to 
secure  any  data  regarding  these  men,  and  I  have,  there- 
fore, had  to  leave  them  out.  I  should  have  liked  to 
include  a  record  of  the  services  of  Major  Walsh,  of  the 
Canadian  mounted  police,  but  no  information  was  to  be 
had. 

These  were  all  rough,  honest  fellows.  Some  were 
not,  perhaps,  tutored  in  philosophy,  in  history,  in  the 
arts  and  niceties  of  a  more  complex  civilization,  but 
they  were  all  brave,  resolute,  fearless  and  manly.  From 
Israel  Putnam,  the  master  woodsman  of  the  French 
and  Indian  War,  to  Buffalo  Bill,  the  skilled  scout  and 
plainsman,  we  see  that  the  continent  has  produced  real, 
true  heroes,  men  whose  lives  were  dangerous,  daring, 
and  full  of  the  excitement  of  battle.  And  what  is  the 
lesson  to  be  learned? 

The  lessons  are  many.  In  our  present  civilization, 
where  the  lives  of  most  men  are  spent  in  shops,  factories, 
counting  houses  and  the  like,  it  is  almost  impossible 
for  them  to  attain  the  rough,  hardy  values  of  these 

337 


338  FAMOUS    SCOUTS 

characters,  whose  existences  were  in  the  open  air  and 
the  wild  woodland.  It  is  necessary,  however,  that  the 
modern  young  man  should  keep  his  body  and  muscles 
in  trim;  that  he  should  have  a  healthy  mind  in  a  healthy 
body,  or,  as  the  Romans  put  it:  "Mens  sana  in  corpore 
sano." 

The  danger  of  modern  civilization  is  that  the  young 
man  becomes  too  much  of  an  indoor  animal,  and,  where 
called  upon  to  exercise  some  of  the  stern  virtues,  cannot 
hold  his  own  with  those  who  lead  a  more  hardy  and 
vigorous  life.  The  city  boy  is  cramped,  held  in,  unable 
to  live  the  free  life  which  makes  big  lungs  and  hard 
muscles. 

But  —  if  willing  to  do  so  —  the  boys  of  the  city 
can  make  athletes  of  themselves,  and  can  learn  to 
shoot,  to  ride,  and  to  do  all  of  those  things  which  made 
these  pioneers  famous. 

In  America  —  both  in  Canada  and  the  United 
States  —  the  National  Guard  holds  out  a  splendid  op- 
portunity to  all  those  who  wish  to  learn  how  to  handle  the 
rifle;  mount  a  horse;  learn  the  pitching  of  a  tent,  camp 
cooking,  and  how  to  take  care  of  one's  self  in  the  open. 

In  England,  the  militia,  "Yeomanry,"  and  particu- 
larly the  Boy  Scouts,  are  always  anxious  for  recruits 
and  will  welcome  all  who  come  to  learn.  There  is  ever 
a  chance  to  become  proficient  in  the  arts  which  the 
famous  scouts,  trappers  and  pioneers  had  to  know, 
because  they  used  them  in  their  daily  lives. 

The  great  George  Washington  laid  down  a  series 
of  Rules  of  Conduct,  and  says,  in  Rule  56:  "Let  your 
recreations  be  manful,  not  sinful." 


CONCLUSION  339 

Get  out  into  the  woods  —  when  vacation  time  comes; 
—  go  camping,  pole  a  canoe  up  rapids,  fish,  hunt  —  if 
it  is  possible;  play  tennis,  ride  and  sail  boats.  Do 
anything  but  loll  around  the  city,  dissipating  your 
energies  when  you  could  be  fitting  yourself  for  a  time 
when  your  country  might  need  you  on  the  firing  line. 
And  that  time  appears  to  come  once,  sometimes  twice, 
in  every  generation. 

All  people  deplore  war,  but  war  seems  to  come. 
Warfare  will  never  cease. 

There  is  no  reason  why  the  English-speaking  races 
should  ever  have  conflicts.  They  have  had  them  in 
the  past,  but  now,  standing  for  the  same  principles 
of  right,  justice  and  civilization,  there  should  never 
be  any  cause  of  actual  hostilities  between  the  Canadians, 
the  people  of  the  United  States,  of  Australia,  South 
Africa,  England,  and  wherever  men  have  the  common 
English  language.  All  disputes  can  be  arbitrated,  and 
the  people  of  the  above  mentioned  countries  should 
have  sufficient  intelligence  and  common  sense  to  agree 
with  any  decision  of  a  board  of  arbitration.  I  think  that 
they  have. 

In  time  of  peace  prepare  yourself  for  battle,  for  you 
do  not  know  when  some  alien  people  —  jealous  of  you 
and  your  world  position  —  confident  in  their  own 
prowess,  and  bent  upon  the  aggrandizement  of  their 
empire,  will  take  it  into  their  heads  that  they  desire 
and  wish  your  territory,  and,  by  force  of  arms,  will 
take  that  which  is  yours.  Americans  and  Englishmen 
do  not  wish  to  see  their  countries  walked  over,  as  the 
Chinese  have  had  the  pleasure  of  viewing,  because  they 


340  FAMOUS    SCOUTS 

could  not  keep  law  and  order  in  their  own  boundaries. 
Therefore,  young  man,  take  seriously  to  heart  the 
lesson  which  the  lives  of  these  stout  woodsmen  teach. 
Cultivate  the  life  of  the  camp  and  learn  the  use  of  the 
rifle.  The  wild  game  is  now  extinct  where  you  live, 
perhaps,  but  wooden  targets  are  easily  constructed, 
and  with  these  you  can  learn  to  shoot  as  well  as  did 
Kit  Carson,  Davy  Crockett,  or  Meriweather  Lewis. 
Learn  how  to  be  a  soldier.  It  will  assist  you  in  every 
way,  and  you  never  know  when  the  trumpet  call  of 
battle  will  cry  to  you  to  be  up  and  doing.  Then,  if  you 
have  prepared  yourself,  you  will  be  ready,  and  you  can 
undertake  the  privations  and  sufferings  of  a  campaign. 

FIT  YOURSELVES! 

"Hark!  I  hear  the  tramp  of  thousands, 
And  of  arm'd  men  the  hum; 
Lo!  a  nation's  hosts  have  gathered 
'Round  the  quick,  alarming  drum  — 
Saying,  'Come, 
Freemen,  come, 
Ere  your  heritage  be  wasted,' 
Said  the  quick,  alarming  drum. 

"  Fit  yourselves!  the  blare  of  gatlings, 
And  the  roll  of  muffled  drum, 
Will  not  call  to  you,  unready, 
When  the  steel-clad  minies  hum. 
You  will  come! 
Yes  —  will  come! 

When  the  great,  red  god  of  battle 
Rolls  the  deep,  awakening  drum." 


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FAMOUS  CAVALRY  LEADERS.  By  CHARLES  H 

L.  JOHNSTON. 

Large  12mo,    With  24  illustrations       .        .        .      $1.50 

Biographical  sketches,  with  interesting  anecdotes  and 
reminiscences  of  the  heroes  of  history  who  were  leaders 
of  cavalry. 

"  More  of  such  books  should  be  written,  books  that 
acquaint  young  readers  with  historical  personages  in  a 
pleasant  informal  way."  —  N.  Y.  Sun. 

FAMOUS  INDIAN  CHIEFS.  By  CHARLES  H.  L. 
JOHNSTON. 

Large  12mo,  illustrated $1.50 

In  this  book  Mr.  Johnston  gives  interesting  sketches  of 
the  Indian  braves  who  have  figured  with  prominence  in 
the  history  of  our  own  land,  including  Powhatan,  the 
Indian  Caesar;  Massasoit,  the  friend  of  the  Puritans; 
Pontiac,  the  red  Napoleon;  Tecumseh,  the  famous  war 
chief  of  the  Shawnees;  Sitting  Bull,  the  famous  war  chief 
of  the  Sioux;  Ceronimo,  the  renowned  Apache  Chief,  ate., 
etc. 
A— 4 


BOOKS  FOR    YOUNG  PEOPLE 


FAMOUS  SCOUTS.      By  CHARLES  H.  L.  JOHNSTON. 

Large  12mo,  illustrated $1.50 

Mr.  Johnston  gives  us  historical  facts  and  biographical 
sketches  and  interesting  anecdotes  of  those  heroes  of  early 
pioneer  days  who  made  names  for  themselves  among  the 
hardy  adventurers  who  thronged  the  border.    There  are 
tales  of  Gen.  Israel  Putnam;  the  celebrated  Daniel  Boone; 
Kit  Carson,  the  noted  scout;  Lewis  and  Clarke,  the  hardy 
explorers;   the  world-renowned  Buffalo  Bill,  and  of  many 
other  famous  scouts,   trappers  and  pioneers. 
BEAUTIFUL     JOE'S    PARADISE:      OR,    THE 
ISLAND  OF  BROTHERLY  Lo  VE  .  A  sequel  to ' '  Beautiful  Joe . " 
By  MARSHALL  SAUNDERS,  author  of  "  Beautiful  Joe." 
One  vol.,  library  12mo,  cloth,  illustrated    .        .      $1.50 
"  This  book  revives  the  spirit  of  '  Beautiful  Joe  '  capi- 
tally.   It  is  fairly  riotous  with  fun,  and  is  about  as  unusual 
as  anything  in  the  animal  book  line  that  has  seen  the 
light.'  —  Philadelphia  Item. 
'TILDA  JANE.     By  MARSHALL  SAUNDERS. 

One  vol.,  12mp,  fully  illustrated,  cloth  decorative,  $1.50 
"  I  cannot  think  of  any  better  book  for  children  than 
this.     I  commend  it  unreservedly."  —  Cyrus   Townsend 
Brady. 

'TILDA  JANE'S  ORPHANS.    A  sequel  to  "  'Tilda 
Jane."     By  MARSHALL  SAUNDERS. 
One  vol.,  12mo,  fully  illustrated,  cloth  decorative,  $1.50 
"Tilda  Jane  is  the  same  original,  delightful  girl,  and  as 

fond  of  her  animal  pets  as  ever. 

THE  STORY  OF  THE  GRAVELE YS.     By  MAR- 
SHALL SAUNDERS,   author  of   "  Beautiful  Joe's  Para- 
dise," "  'Tilda  Jane,"  etc. 
Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative.    Illustrated  by  E.  B. 

Barry $1.50 

Here  we  have  the  haps  and  mishaps,  the  trials  and 

triumphs,  of  a  delightful  New  England  family,  of  whose 

devotion  and  sturdiness  it  will  do  the  reader  good  to  hear. 

BORN   TO   THE   BLUE.      By  FLORENCE  KIMBALL 

RUSSEL. 

12mo,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated  .  .  .  $1.25 
The  atmosphere  of  army  life  on  the  plains  breathes  on 
every  page  of  this  delightful  tale.  The  boy  is  the  son  of  a 
captain  of  U.  S.  cavalry  stationed  at  a  frontier  post  in  the 
days  when  our  regulars  earned  the  gratitude  of  a  nation. 
A— 6 


L.  C.  PAGE  &•  COMPANY'S 


IN  WEST  POINT  GRAY 

By  FLORENCE  KIMBALL  RUSSEL. 

12mo,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated  .  .  .  $1.50 
"  Singularly  enough  one  of  the  best  books  of  the  year 
for  boys  is  written  by  a  woman  and  deals  with  life  at  West 
Point.  The  presentment  of  life  in  the  famous  military 
academy  whence  so  many  heroes  have  graduated  is  realistic 
and  enjoyable." — New  York  Sun. 

THE  SANDMAN:  HIS  FARM  STORIES 

By  WILLIAM  J.  HOPKINS.     With  fifty  illustrations  by 

Ada  Clendenin  Williamson. 

Large  12mo,  decorative  cover        .        .        .        .      $1.50 

"  An  amusing,  original  book,  written  for  the  benefit  of 
very  small  children.  It  should  be  one  of  the  most  popular 
of  the  year's  books  for  reading  to  small  children."  — 
Buffalo  Express. 

THE  SANDMAN:    MORE  FARM  STORIES 

By  WILLIAM  J.  HOPKINS. 

Large  12mo,  decorative  cover,  fully  illustrated      $1.50 

Mr.  Hopkins's  first  essay  at  bedtime  stories  met  with 

such  approval  that  this  second  book  of  "  Sandman  "  tales 

was  issued  for  scores  of  eager  children.    Life  on  the  farm, 

and  out-of-doors,  is  portrayed  in  his  inimitable  manner. 

THE    SANDMAN:     HIS    SHIP    STORIES 

By  WILLIAM  J.  HOPKINS,  author  of  "  The  Sandman: 
His  Farm  Stories,"  etc. 

Large  12mo,  decorative  cover,  fully  illustrated      $1.50 
"  Children  call  for  these  stories  over  and  over  again."  — 
Chicago   Evening  Post. 

THE  SANDMAN:  HIS  SEA  STORIES 

By  WILLIAM  J.  HOPKINS. 

Large  12mo,  decorative  cover,  fully  illustrated      $1.50 

Each  year  adds  to  the  popularity  of  this  unique  series 

of  stories  to  be  read  to  the  little  ones  at  bed  time  and  at 

other  times. 

A— 6 


BOOKS  FOR    YOUNG  PEOPLE 


A  TEXAS  BLUE  BONNET 

By  EMILIA  ELLIOTT. 

12mo,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated  .  .  .  $1.50 
This  is  the  story  of  a  warm-hearted,  impulsive  and  breezy 
girl  of  the  Southwest,  who  has  lived  all  her  life  on  a  big 
ranch.  She  comes  to  the  far  East  for  a  long  visit,  and  her 
experiences  "  up  North  "  are  indeed  delightful  reading. 
Blue  Bonnet  is  sure  to  win  the  hearts  of  all  girl  readers. 

THE  DOCTOR'S  LITTLE  GIRL 

By   MARION   AMES   TAGGART,   author   of   "  Pusay-Cat 

Town,"  etc. 

One  vol.,  library  12mo,  illustrated        .        .        .      $1.50 

A  thoroughly  enjoyable  tale  of  a  little  girl  and  her  com- 
rade father,  written  in  a  delightful  vein  of  sympathetic 
comprehension  of  the  child's  point  of  view. 

SWEET  NANCY 

THE  FURTHER  ADVENTURES  OP  THE  DOCTOR'S  LITTLE 
GIRL.    By  MARION  AMES  TAGGART. 
One  vol.,  library,  12mo,  illustrated      .        .        .      $1.50 
In  the  new  book,  the  author  tells  how  Nancy  becomes 
in  fact  "  the  doctor's  assistant,"  and  continues  to  shed 
happiness  around  her. 
CARLOTA 

A  STORY  OF  THE  SAN  GABRIEL  MISSION.    By  FRANCES 
MARGARET  Fox. 

Small  quarto,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated  and  decorated 

in  colors  by  Ethelind  Ridgway     ....      $1.00 

"  It  is  a  pleasure  to  recommend  this  little  story  as  an 

entertaining  contribution  to  juvenile  literature.'  —  The 

New  York  Sun. 

THE  SEVEN  CHRISTMAS  CANDLES 
By  FRANCES  MARGARET  Fox. 

Small  quarto,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated  and  deco- 
rated in  colors  by  E.  B.  Barry      .        .        .        .      $1.00 
Miss  Fox's  new  book  deals  with  the  fortunes  of  the  de- 
lightful Mulvaney  children. 
SEVEN  LITTLE  WISE  MEN 
By  FRANCES  MARGARET  Fox. 
Small  quarto,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated  in  colors  by 

E.  B.  Barry $1-90 

In  this  new  story  Miss  Fox  relates  how  seven  little  chil- 
dren, who  lived  in  Sunny  California,  prepared  for  the  great 
Christmas  Festival. 
A— 7 


Z.  C.  PAGE  <Sr-  COMPANY'S 


PUSSY-CAT  TOWN 

By  MARION  AMES  TAGGART. 

Small  quarto,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated  and  deco- 
rated in  colors  $1.00 

"  Anything  more  interesting  than  the  doings  of  the  cats 

in  this  story,  their  humor,  their  wisdom,  their  patriotism, 

would  be  hard  to  imagine."  —  Chicago  Post. 

THE  ROSES  OF  SAINT  ELIZABETH 
By  JANE  SCOTT  WOODRUFF. 

Small  quarto,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated  and  decorated 
in  colors  by  Adelaide  Everhart  .  .  .  $1.00 

This  is  a  charming  little  story  of  a  child  whose  father  was 

caretaker  of  the  great  castle  of  the  Wartburg. 

GABRIEL  AND  THE  HOUR  BOOK 

By  EVALEEN  STEIN. 

Small  quarto,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated  and  deco- 
rated in  colors  by  Adelaide  Everhart     ...      $1 .00 
Gabriel  was  a  loving,  patient,  little  French  lad,  who 
assisted  the  monks  in  the  long  ago  days,  when  all  the  books 
were  written  and  illuminated  by  hand,  in  the  monasteries. 

A    LITTLE    SHEPHERD    OF    PROVENCE 

By  EVALEEN  STEIN. 

Small  quarto,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated  in  colors  by 

Diantha  Home  Marlowe $1.00 

This  is  the  story  of   Little  lame  Jean,  a  goatherd  of 

Provence,  and  of  the    "  golden  goat  "  who  is  supposed 

to  guard  a  hidden  treasure. 

THE  ENCHANTED  AUTOMOBILE 

Translated  from  the  French  by  MARY  J  S AFFORD. 
Small  quarto,  cloth  decorative,   illustrated  and  deco- 
rated in  colors  by  Edna  M.  Sawyer        .        .        .      $1.00 
"  An  up-to-date  French  fairy-tale  which  fairly  radiates 

the  spirit  of  the  hour,  —  unceasing  diligence."  —  Chicago 

Record-Herald. 

O-HEART-SAN 

THE  STORY  OF  A  JAPANESE  GIRL.  By  HELEN  EGGLES- 
TON  HASKELL. 

Small  quarto,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated  and  deco- 
rated in  colors  by  Frank  P.  Fairbanks  .  .  .  $1.00 
"  The  story  comes  straight  from  the  heart  of  Japan. 

From  every  page  breathes  the  fragrance   of  tea   leaves, 

cherry  blossoms  and  chrysanthemums."  — -  The  Chicago 

Inter-Ocean. 

A— 8 


BOOKS  FOR    YOUNG  PEOPLE 


THE  YOUNG  SECTION-HAND;    OR,  THE  AD- 

VENTURES  OF  ALLAN  WEST.    By  BURTON  E.  STEVENSON. 

Square  12mo,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated   .        .      $1.50 
Mr.  Stevenson's  hero  is  a  manly  lad  of  sixteen,  who  is 
given  a  chance  as  a  section-hand  on  a  big  Western  rail- 
road, and  whose  experiences  are  as  real  as  they  are  thrilling. 

THE  YOUNG  TRAIN  DISPATCHER.  By  BUR- 

TON  E.   STEVENSON. 

Square  12mo,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated   .        .      $1.50 
"  A  better  book  for  boys  has  never  left  an  American 
press." — Springfield    Union. 

THE  YOUNG  TRAIN  MASTER.  By  BURTON  E. 

STEVENSON. 

Square  12mo,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated         .      $1.50 
"  Nothing  better  in  the  way  of  a  book  of  adventure  for 
boys  in  which  the  actualities  of  life  are  set  forth  in  a  practi- 
cal way  could  be  devised  or  written."  —  Boston  Herald. 

CAPTAIN  JACK  LORIMER.  By  WINN  STANDISH. 

Square  12mo,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated         .      $1.50 
Jack  is  a  fine  example  of  the  all-around  American  high- 
school  boy. 

JACK  LORIMER'S  CHAMPIONS;  OR,  SPORTS 
ON  LAND  AND  LAKE.    By  WINN  STANDISH. 
Square  12mo,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated       .        $1.50 
"It  is  exactly  the  sort  of  book  to  give  a  boy  interested 

in  athletics,  for  it  shows  him  what  it  means  to  always 

'play  fair.'"  —  Chicago    Tribune. 

JACK  LORIMER'S  HOLIDAYS;   OR,  MILLVALE 
HIGH  IN  CAMP.    By  WINN  STANDISH. 

Illustrated $1.50 

Full  of  just  the  kind  of  fun,  sports  and  adventure  to 

excite  the  healthy  minded  youngster  to  emulation. 

JACK  LORIMER'S  SUBSTITUTE;  OR,  THE  ACT- 
ING  CAPTAIN  OF  THE  TEAM.     By  WINN  STANDISH. 

Illustrated $1.50 

On  the  sporting  side,  this  book  takes  up  football,  wres- 
tling, tobogganing,  but  it  is  more  of  a  school  story  perhaps 
than  any  of  its  predecessors. 

A— 9 


L.  C.  PAGE  &  COMPANY'S 


THE  RED  FEATHERS.  By  THEODORE  ROBERTS 
Cloth  decorative,  illustrated  .  .  .  .  $1.50 
"  The  Red  Feathers  "  tells  of  the  remarkable  adventures 

of  an  Indian  boy  who  lived  in  the  Stone  Age,  many  years 

ago,  when  the  world  was  young. 

FLYING  PLOVER.     By  THEODORE  ROBERTS. 
Cloth  decorative.     Illustrated  by  Charles  Livingston 

Bull $1.00 

Squat-By-The-Fire  is  a  very  old  and  wise  Indian  who 

lives  alone  with  her  grandson,  "  Flying  Plover,"  to  whom 

she  tells  the  stories  each  evening. 

COMRADES   OF   THE  TRAILS.    By    G.    E. 
THEODORE  ROBERTS. 
Cloth  decorative.     Illustrated  by  Charles  Livingston 

Bull $1.50 

The  story  of  a  fearless  young  English  lad,  Dick  Ramsey, 

who,  after  the  death  of  his  father,  crosses  the  seas  and 

takes  up  the  life  of  a  hunter  and  trapper  in  the  Canadian 

forests. 

LITTLE  WHITE  INDIANS.    By  FANNIE  E.  Os- 

TRANDER. 

Cloth  decorative,  illustrated         .        .       .       .      $1.25 
"  A  bright,  interesting  story  which  will  appeal  strongly 
to  the  '  make-believe  '  instinct  in  children,  and  will  give 
them  a  healthy,  active  interest  in  '  the  simple  life.'  " 
THE  BOY  WHO  WON 

By  FANNIE  E.  OSTRANDER,  author  of  "  Little  White 
Indians." 
12mo,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated  by  R.  Farrington 

Elwell $1.25 

A  companion  volume  to  "  Little  White  Indians  "  con- 
tinuing the  adventures  of  the  different  "  tribes,"  whose 
"  doings  "  were  so  interestingly  told  in  the  earlier  volume. 
MARCHING  WITH  MORGAN.    How  DONALD 
LOVELL    BECAME    A   SOLDIER    OF    THE    REVOLUTION. 
By  JOHN  V.  LANE. 

Cloth  decorative,  illustrated  ....      $1.50 

This  is  a  splendid   boy's  story  of  the  expedition  of 
Montgomery  and  Arnold  against  Quebec. 


BOOKS  FOR    YOUNG  PEOPLE 


COSY  CORNER  SERIES 

It  is  the  intention  of  the  publishers  that  this  series  shall 
contain  only  the  very  highest  and  purest  literature,  — 
stories  that  shall  not  only  appeal  to  the  children  them- 
selves, but  be  appreciated  by  all  those  who  feel  with 
them  in  their  joys  and  sorrows. 

The  numerous  illustrations  in  each  book  are  by  well- 
known  artists,  and  each  volume  has  a  separate  attract- 
ive cover  design. 

Each  1  vol.,  16mo,  cloth 10-60 

By  ANNIE  FELLOWS  JOHNSTON 

THE  LITTLE   COLONEL      (Trade  Mark.) 

The  scene  of  this  story  is  laid  in  Kentucky.  Its  hero- 
ine is  a  small  girl,  who  is  known  as  the  Little  Colonel, 
on  account  of  her  fancied  resemblance  to  an  old-school 
Southern  gentleman,  whose  fine  estate  and  old  family 
are  famous  in  the  region. 

THE  GIANT  SCISSORS 

This  is  the  story  of  Joyce  and  of  her  adventures  in 
France.  Joyce  is  a  great  friend  of  the  Little  Colonel, 
and  in  later  volumes  shares  with  her  the  delightful  ex- 
periences of  the  "  House  Party  "  and  the  "  Holidays." 

TWO  LITTLE  KNIGHTS  OF  KENTUCKY 

WHO  WERE  THE  LITTLE  COLONEL'S  NEIGHBORS. 

In  this  volume  the  Little  Colonel  returns  to  us  like  an 
old  friend,  but  with  added  grace  and  charm.  She  is  not, 
however,  the  central  figure  of  the  story,  that  place  being 
taken  by  the  "  two  little  knights." 

MILDRED'S  INHERITANCE 

A  delightful  little  story  of  a  lonely  English  girl  who 
comes  to  America  and  is  befriended  by  a  sympathetic 
American  family  who  are  attracted  by  her  beautiful 
speaking  voice.  By  means  of  this  one  gift  she  is  en- 
abled to  help  a  school-girl  who  has  temporarily  lost  the 
use  of  her  eyes,  and  thus  finally  her  life  becomes  a  busy, 
happy  one. 
A— 11 


Z.  C.  PAGE  *•  COMPANY'S 


By  ANNIE  FELLOWS  JOHNSTON  (Continued) 

CICELY  AND  OTHER  STORIES  FOR  GIRLS 

The  readers  of  Mrs.  Johnston's  charming  juveniles 
will  be  glad  to  learn  of  the  issue  of  this  volume  for  young 
people. 

AUNT  'LIZA'S  HERO  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

A  collection  of  six  bright  little  stories,  which  will  appeal 
to  all  boys  and  most  girls. 

BIG  BROTHER 

A  story  of  two  boys.  The  devotion  and  care  of  Stephen, 
himself  a  small  boy,  for  his  baby  brother,  is  the  theme  of 
the  simple  tale. 

OLE  MAMMY'S  TORMENT 

"  Ole  Mammy's  Torment "  has  been  fitly  called  "  a 
classic  of  Southern  life."  It  relates  the  haps  and  mis- 
haps of  a  small  negro  lad,  and  tells  how  he  was  led  by 
love  and  kindness  to  a  knowledge  of  the  right. 

THE  STORY  OF  DAGO 

In  this  story  Mrs.  Johnston  relates  the  story  of  Dago, 
a  pet  monkey,  owned  jointly  by  two  brothers.  Dago 
tells  his  own  story,  and  the  account  of  his  haps  and  mis- 
haps is  both  interesting  and  amusing. 

THE  QUILT  THAT  JACK  BUILT 

A  pleasant  little  story  of  a  boy's  labor  of  love,  and  how 
it  changed  the  course  of  his  life  many  years  after  it  was 
accomplished 

FLIP'S  ISLANDS  OF  PROVIDENCE 

A  story  of  a  boy's  life  battle,  his  early  defeat,  and  hfc 
final  triumph,  well  worth  the  reading. 
A  — 12 


BOOKS  FOR    YOUNG  PEOPLE 


By  EDITH  ROBINSON 

A  LITTLE  PURITAN'S  FIRST  CHRISTMAS 

A  story  of  Colonial  times  in  Boston,  telling  how  Christ- 
mas was  invented  by  Betty  Sewall,  a  typical  child  of  the 
Puritans,  aided  by  her  brother  Sam. 

A  LITTLE  DAUGHTER  OF  LIBERTY 

The  author  introduces  this  story  as  follows: 
"  One  ride  is  memorable  in  the  early  history  of  the 
American  Revolution,  the  well-known  ride  of  Paul 
Revere.  Equally  deserving  of  commendation  is  another 
ride,  —  the  ride  of  Anthony  Severn,  —  which  was  no  less 
historic  in  its  action  or  memorable  in  its  consequences." 

A  LOYAL  LITTLE  MAID 

A  delightful  and  interesting  story  of  Revolutionary 
days,  in  which  the  child  heroine,  Betsey  Schuyler,  renders 
important  services  to  George  Washington. 

A  LITTLE  PURITAN  REBEL 

This  is  an  historical  tale  of  a  real  girl,  during  the  time 
when  the  gallant  Sir  Harry  Vane  was  governor  of  Massa- 
chusetts. 

A  LITTLE  PURITAN  PIONEER 

The  scene  of  this  story  is  laid  in  the  Puritan  settlement 
at  Charlestown. 

A  LITTLE  PURITAN  BOUND  GIRL 

A  story  of  Boston  in  Puritan  days,  which  is  of  great 
interest  to  youthful  readers. 

A  LITTLE  PURITAN  CAVALIER 

The  story  of  a  "  Little  Puritan  Cavalier  "  who  tried 
with  all  his  boyish  enthusiasm  to  emulate  the  spirit  and 
ideals  of  the  dead  Crusaders. 

A  PURITAN  KNIGHT  ERRANT 

The  story  tells  of  a  young  lad  in  Colonial  times  who 
endeavored  to  carry  out  the  high  ideals  of  the  knights 
of  olden  days. 
A— 13 


Z.  C.  PAGE  *»  COMPANY'S 


By  QUID  A  (Louise  de  la  Ramee) 

A  DOG  OF  FLANDERS 

A  CHRISTMAS  STORY 

Too  well  and  favorably  known  to  require  description. 

THE  NURNBERG  STOVE 

This  beautiful  story  has  never  before  b«en  published 
at  a  popular  price. 

By  FRANCES  MARGARET  FOX 

THE  LITTLE  GIANT'S  NEIGHBOURS 

A  charming  nature  story  of  a  "  little  giant "  whoso 
neighbors  were  the  creatures  of  the  field  and  garden. 

FARMER  BROWN  AND  THE  BIRDS 

A  little  story  which  teaches  children  that  the  birds  are 
man's  best  friends. 

BETTY  OF  OLD  MACKINAW 

A  charming  story  of  child  life. 

BROTHER  BILLY 

The  story  of  Betty's  brother,  and  some  further  adven- 
tures of  Betty  herself. 

MOTHER  NATURE'S  LITTLE  ONES 

Curious  little  sketches  d  scribing  the  early  lifetime,  Of 
"  childhood,"  of  the  little  creatures  out-of-doors. 

HOW    CHRISTMAS    CAME    TO    THE    MUL- 
VANEYS 

A  bright,  lifelike  little  story  of  a  family  of  poor  children 
with  an  unlimited  capacity  for  fun  and  mischief. 

THE  COUNTRY  CHRISTMAS 

Miss  Fox  has  vividly  described  the  happy  surprises  that 
made  the  occasion  so  memorable  to  the  Mulvaneys,  and 
the  funny  things  the  children  did  in  their  new  environ- 
ment. 
A— 14 


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